


This Charming Man

by trashweekes



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Ryden, Spirited Away AU, brallon, but without magic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashweekes/pseuds/trashweekes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is a worker at a bath house. Dallon is a rich businessman. Spirited Away-esque au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I can't wait 'til he's gone," Ryan muttered angrily as he scrubbed the last in his pile of soiled bed sheets on his washboard. "Rude bastard..."  
"He'll be gone by tomorrow morning, Ryan. And don't let Mr Wentz hear you talking about him like that," I warned him as I folded the clean sheets and placed them in colour coordinated piles. It was damn difficult since they were all slightly different pasty shades of white.  
I heard Ryan sigh and put his washboard down.  
"I think that's everything, right?" he asked, glancing round the small room. I grunted in response and put the towels in their correct shelves in the cupboards. He lay down on his back and breathed out heavily.  
"I'm gettin' too old for this," Ryan said, and I kicked him playfully in his side and scoffed as he flinched and curled up into a ball.  
"Shut up, you're sixteen!"  
He laughed and grabbed for my ankle. "I feel sixty!"  
"Ryan, get off!" I laughed, trying to shake my ankle free and the door suddenly opening behind us startled me and I stumbled back against the cupboards.  
"What the hell are you two doing?" Mr Wentz growled in the doorway. Ryan sat up immediately and tried to help me up.  
"N-nothing, sir," he mumbled, tugging at my arm.  
Mr Wentz grunted. "Whatever. You have a customer, Urie."  
I quickly shook Ryan's lingering hands off and frowned at Mr Wentz. "But we're finished, sir. We've done all our chores for today."  
Mr Wentz shot me a glowering look. "I said you have a customer, Urie. You have five minutes to make yourself presentable and be by my front desk. You hear me? Five minutes," he said, before turning and slamming the door behind him. I heard Ryan gulp behind me and I spun around and grabbed his shirt collar.  
"Ryan, you have to help me!"  
He frowned and pushed my hands away. "I already have three on the go at the moment. I'm not helping you, Bren."  
"Please, Ryan, please!?" I begged him, falling to my knees in front of him with my hands clasped together.  
He poked my forehead. "I can't! I've got too many duties at the moment and Mr Wentz probably wouldn't let me either. Speaking of Wentz, you should probably get going before he skins you."  
"But I haven't got anything smart to wear," I said, getting up and dusting my knees.  
Ryan sighed in exasperation and bent down to pick up his tub and washboard, "You can borrow something from me," and headed to the door. I followed him back to our dorm room where he searched his closet whilst I got undressed down to my underwear. He pulled out his neatly hung evening uniform and held it up to me.  
"Won't it be a bit long?" he asked after I took it from him and started changing.  
"You're not that much taller than me, Ryan," I muttered, pulling on the pants. "Besides, it's only for this evening. I'll get mine back by tomorrow." My evening uniform had been taken away to be cleaned properly after an incident involving soup and shoulder barging in the restaurant a few nights before. I told Ryan this and he rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed to undo his shoe laces.  
"I don't expect any less from you to be honest."  
I stuck my tongue out at him and fixed my collar before heading to the door. I paused in the doorway to slip on my indoor shoes and noticed a folded piece of paper in the front pocket. I frowned and opened it up. Written on the inside was what I recognised to be a list of monuments, restaurants and parks in Valnesse City. I frowned.  
"Hey, Ryan, what's this?"  
He looked up and his eyes went wide. "Give me that!" he said, getting up quickly and rushing towards me. I lifted it above my head which was a foolish move as he was taller than me and could grab it anyway and he did and shoved it into his back pocket. He stood frowning at the floor guiltily.  
I folded my arms and eyed him warily. "Why do you have a list of places in Valnesse, Ryan?"  
He turned his face away sharply and started walking towards the balcony, ignoring my question. It took me a moment to realise and my eyes widened slightly with hope.  
"Ryan, did you get train tickets?"  
He paused in the middle of the room and let out a heavy sigh. "I thought I was going to," he said quietly, turning to look at me.  
"Oh," I looked down, "Why didn't you?"  
There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke. "Jon said he could try and get some. One for me a-and one for you," he said, and I could tell by his tone he was embarrassed. I smiled slightly.  
"So you made a list of things you wanted us to do?"  
Ryan nodded and put his hands in his pockets. "You're always talking about how much you want to go s-so I thought we could... Y'know..."  
I grinned and shook my head in disbelief. "Never mind, Ryan. Maybe another time."  
He sighed and turned to the balcony again. "Whatever."  
I watched him for a moment before chuckling softly and turning to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

The reception was painfully busy and I had to stand up straight and grinning for about half an hour next to Mr Wentz's desk greeting customers. I remembered having this job when I first started working there and it was still the same torture it had been back then.  
Mr Wentz told me that my customer, who I discovered was named D. Weekes after I peered over Mr Wentz shoulder at his customer book, was still having dinner and between Mr Wentz's phony greetings to customers, I managed to ask him a few questions about this elusive D. Weekes.  
"Some businessman from the west. I assume he's visiting Valnesse for work or whatever. None of your business though, just remember that."  
I nodded and looked away, silently cursing him. He'd probably had a bad day but Mr Wentz often seemed to have a bad day and it was always a chore to deal with negative people like him.  
"Right then," Mr Wentz said, getting up from his chair behind the reception desk and placed his hand on my shoulder, "Off to meet Mr Weekes finally."  
He lead me out the reception and over to the restaurant. It was busy as usual and raucous laughter rung in the air and the buzz of chatter made my ears tingle. Mr Wentz took me to the far end of the restaurant where it was immensely calmer and quieter. There were mostly older men here gathered around tables playing board and card games. The stench of tobacco was rife from the low hanging smoke clouds and I had to take shallow breaths to avoid coughing.  
He led me to a table set in the corner. There sat a young-ish looking man with a large cigar hanging from his mouth and a heavy set frown on his brow. In front of him was his empty dinner plate and stacks of files. He was flicking through a handful of paper with tiny text printed on it when we approached and he looked up through thick rimmed spectacles at us both and smiled pleasantly. Mr Wentz gave his best customer smile.  
"Good evening, Mr Weekes. I trust you enjoyed your meal?"  
Mr Weekes nodded and placed the papers down on the table. "Oh yes, I did, thank you very much," he said as he removed his glasses and set them on the papers.  
"Excellent. Well as you might have heard, whilst you are staying here, you will have an assistant to help you with anything you may require," Mr Wentz said, and pulled me forward so Mr Weekes could get a better look at me. I'd been hiding behind Mr Wentz out of fear Mr Weekes was going to be as leery as my last customer.  
But Mr Weekes looked me up and down quickly and smiled. "Oh that's excellent. And I take it this young man is my assistant for this week?"  
Mr Wentz nodded and patted my shoulder. "Absolutely, sir. This is Brendon."  
Mr Weekes held out a hand for me. "Very nice to meet you, Brendon," he said with a pleasant grin.  
Flustered, I hesitantly shook the man's hand and ducked my head. "N-nice to meet you too, Mr W-Weekes," I mumbled and cursed myself mentally for my sudden shyness.  
Mr Weekes sat back and looked up at Mr Wentz expectantly and it took a moment for him to realise.  
"Ah yes, right," Mr Wentz gabbled and smiled over at Mr Weekes, "Your suitcase is already in your room, sir. Brendon will show you the way and answer any questions you might have," and he walked away.  
I swallowed nervously and shuffled closer to the table. Mr Weekes began gathering up his files and I waited patiently for him to ask me carry anything but he didn't. He just stood smiling pleasantly at me, his glasses on his head, his briefcase in one hand and a stack of files under his arm.  
"Lead on," he said after a moment and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment and looked away before leading him out the restaurant.


	3. Chapter 3

"... And the bar opens around six o'clock in the evenings and closes at one. I believe that's everything," I said as I watched Mr Weekes peer round his room with an amused look on his face.   
"Lovely," he said vaguely, eyeing a painting on the wall. I stood rigid by the door, eager to leave and hoping he didn't have any questions. Spencer had gone to the market that afternoon and brought some sweets and cakes from a travelling sweet stand with the last of his overtime pay check. I'd been looking forward to trying the foreign candies all day and as much as I suppose I already liked Mr Weekes, he was taking a long damn time with... Well, everything!  
"A-any questions?" I muttered awkwardly after a long silence. Thankfully, Mr Weekes shook his head.   
"No, I don't think so. You covered all I needed to know," he smiled over at me.   
"Do you need anything else then, sir?"  
Again, he shook his head. "No, everything's quite alright. Thank you for helping, Brendon."  
I smiled awkwardly and nodded. As I turned to leave, he called to me, "Oh, actually, Brendon," I turned back towards him, "could you possibly come up to my room first thing tomorrow morning?"  
I nodded hesitantly and smiled. "I-I'm supposed to do that anyway, sir," I said.  
He blinked and then grinned. "Oh. Oh, good. Right, lovely," he said again.  
"Is that all, sir?"  
"Just one more thing," he said with a grin and I feigned annoyance which made him chuckle before saying, "Call me Dallon."  
I tilted my head slightly in confusion. "Dallon?"  
"Yes. That's my name."  
I shrugged and smiled. "Alright. Goodnight, Dallon," I said, turning back to the door.  
"You too, Brendon. Pleasant dreams," he said and I closed the door behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

I knocked on Mr Weekes' door the next morning at 7 o'clock sharp and went in anyway after I got no response. The shades were drawn and I could see the shape of Mr Weekes' sleeping figure under the duvet. I could hear him snoring softly and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. I walked over to the opposite side of the room and opened the curtains. The room lit up instantly and I had to cover my eyes from the brightness. From the bed, I heard Mr Weekes mumble and looked over to see him hiding his face under the duvet. I grinned and padded over to his wardrobe.  
"It's time to wake up, Mr Weekes!" I chirped and started looking through his wardrobe for his work clothes. I hung up his suit jacket on the wardrobe door and smiled at the sight of him sitting up in bed. He was rubbing his eyes which were heavy with sleep and his messy brown hair was sticking up in short tufts. He peered up at me through squinted eyes and mumbled a, "Morning," before shuffling to the side of the bed to swing his legs over. He was dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt and I smiled at how normal he looked compared to last night when he was dressed up smartly.  
Mr Weekes got up and stumbled to the bathroom with a yawn and I set about making the bed and clearing up his litter on his bedside tables. I heard the shower switch on as I plumped up the pillows and arranged them neatly. They'd all been strewn across the floor except for one and I frowned at how uncomfortable I always was sleeping with just one pillow.  
He wasn't very long in the shower. I marvelled at him when he came into the room bone dry with his hair fluffed up and a towel wrapped around his waist. He was much more awake and alert now and he almost skipped over to the folding screen. I quickly moved his clothes over to hang them on one of the screens and started passing over clean underwear and his shirt.   
"So what are you up to today then, Brendon?" Mr Weekes asked cheerfully from behind the screen.  
"Oh just my usual duties. Laundry, cleaning, etc. Nothing exciting," I said, passing him his pants, "What about you?"  
"I'm sticking around here this morning," he said, shuffling around behind the screen, "Got some files to sort, then I'm heading up to the office in the afternoon."  
I heard him sigh. "Well that doesn't sound too bad," I said, passing him his tie.  
"It's alright," he said, emerging from behind the screen adjusting his tie. He was quiet for a brief moment before he spoke again, "I was thinking about heading up to the market this morning actually. Would you care to tag along?"  
I froze at the question and blinked up at him, my cheeks flushing. "U-uh... I-I don't think I can, I'm afraid," I mumbled, flustered, "G-got a lot of work to catch up on."  
He shrugged and smiled. "That's alright. Some other time perhaps," he said and went over to his bed to slip on his shoes.  
I swallowed, feeling bad about saying no. "I-I'm sorry, Mr Weekes," I mumbled, feeling foolish.  
"Don't be," he said, smiling up at me cheerfully, "It's perfectly alright, Brendon. And please, it's Dallon."  
I nodded quickly. "O-of course. My apologies."  
Mr Weekes stood up and brushed his suit down. "Right well, I think that's all I needed you for today. I'll see you around perhaps," he said and smiled down at me.  
I stared for a second in disbelief. "That... That's all?"  
He nodded. "Sure. For today anyway."  
I smiled back at him widely and scurried to the door. I bowed quickly to him. "Thank you, Mr Weekes! Damn! I-I mean Dallon! See you later!" and hurried down the corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

"Just buy something, Ryan! Your stomach's too damn loud," I whined, tugging his arm impatiently.  
"I can't," he said, trying to pull out my grip, "I still feel sick from last night!"  
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but I'm getting something," I said and left him in the middle of the street. I knew he wouldn't wander off and he knew where the food stalls were anyway. I headed over to them and began my long saunter down the food court. It was about midday so it was fairly busy and the queues were irritatingly long. I couldn't ever really buy what I wanted since we were always on a tight budget and after Spencer's splash out on candies yesterday, I wasn't prepared to spend more than a coin of my own money on anything. But looking at all the price boards hung up on every stall, it looked like that wasn't feasible. Money was a constant problem between the three of us. When we had first arrived, we'd splashed out on anything and everything pretty or tasty we could get our hands on but that way of thinking left us starving for a week and begging to Mr Wentz for extra money was a one way ticket to certain death. We were a lot more sensible now, except the occasional treat, but we had to be very careful after those.  
So I changed my mind. I turned on my heel halfway down the food court and hurried back over to Ryan who was stood by a brightly coloured stall displaying multitudes of coloured boxes. I watched him pick up a small pastel coloured box, examine it and then hand over some notes to the stall owner.  
My jaw dropped. Ryan bought a fucking box with the last of his pay check which meant I was now the only one with any money until tomorrow afternoon. We still had to buy dinner and breakfast, pick up some groceries for ourselves, pay for the repairs on Spencer's watch, pay the dry cleaners, all this shit to do and Ryan had the fucking audacity to waste his money on a fucking box.   
I marched over and grabbed his shoulder roughly. "Ryan!"  
He jumped and quickly tried to hide the box in his pocket.   
"Ryan, what the hell is this?"  
"N-nothing," he mumbled and tried to pull away from me.   
"I can't believe you!" I hissed, pulling him away from the stall, "What the hell did you buy that piece of junk for?"  
He looked away and I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. "I-It's a m-music box," he mumbled. I raised my eyebrows and asked, "So what? That doesn't even answer my question, Ryan!"  
He hesitated and sighed, successfully pulling out my grip and began walking away from me.   
"Ryan!" I followed him and grabbed his arm again, my voice almost pleading now. "Ryan, why did you buy a damn music box?"  
He glanced up at me, his cheeks flushed and frowned. "I-it's for you, y-you... You fucking idiot."  
I froze and stared at him, wide eyed. "You... Y-you bought it for me?" I stammered.  
He looked away and nodded. "I wanted to make it up to you. F-for not getting the tickets, I-I mean. But obviously it's just a piece of junk so it doesn't mean anything," he said, his voice turning harsh and sarcastic.  
I frowned. "Hey, that's not fair! I didn't know you bought it for me. I just thought you were being stupid."  
"Whatever," he said and thrust the music box into my hands, "Let's just go. We've got nothing else to do here."   
He turned away and sulked off. I watched him for a moment then looked down at the music box. It was small, round and brightly coloured with pale shades of blue, pink and gold and little blue and red gems decorating it. It had small, proudly dressed horses around the outside and I realised it was supposed to resemble a carousel. Of all the things Ryan could've chosen, he chose a carousel, I thought to myself and felt a grin spread over my lips. Deciding to examine it further later, I pocketed the music box and started running after Ryan.  
I caught up to him on the bridge to the entrance and he was still flustered and sulky. He refused to say any more about the music box, even though I told him repeatedly how much I liked it, and announced he had to take the groceries we'd been sent to collect earlier to the kitchens and that he would meet me in the laundry rooms. I agreed, thanking him again for the music box.  
"Just... Just stop, Bren. I know you don't like it. You don't have to pretend."  
I scoffed. "I only called it junk because I thought you were wasting money. But I like it. It's pretty."  
Ryan's cheeks flushed and he frowned. "Whatever. See you later," and turned on his heel to the entrance.


	6. Chapter 6

It rained the next morning and it was mine and Spencer's job to go round the whole building closing all the windows and doors. I paused by a window in the corridor leading to Mr Trohman's office on the top floor and peered out onto the vast ocean before me. The train track was just visible under the rising water and if I squinted and squished my nose against the window, I could just make out a small dark square platform in the far distance in the middle of the ocean. It was the train station Ryan and I would have had to go to to get to Valnesse City. I smiled and gently patted the music box in my pocket. I'd forgotten to take it out the night before and made a mental note to put it somewhere safe in my room later.   
"Brendon! C'mon!" I heard Spencer call for me from the other end of the corridor.  
"Coming!" I replied, eyes still fixed on the view. I turned from the window and froze when I heard a train whistle blow in the distance. Immediately, I turned back to the window and saw the train wade steadily through the water. I grinned like an excited child and ran to the opposite window to watch it drive off into the distance. The window was clouded with condensation and raindrops and I pushed it open, not caring about getting wet, to watch it.   
"Brendon, hurry up!" Spencer yelled impatiently.  
I laughed and slammed the window shut, before running over to him. "Sorry, Spence!"  
"What on earth were you doing?" he asked and started walking towards the elevator.  
"Watching the train," I grinned happily, then paused. "Oh! Hey, Spence, what time is it?"  
He frowned and looked around, spotting a grandfather clock at the end of an adjacent hallway and squinted to read it's clock face. "Uh... 6:30?"  
"Perfect," I said simply.  
He raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?"  
"I want to be on the bridge tomorrow to watch the train. I didn't know it went past this early. I've always been in the kitchen at this time."  
He rolled his eyes. "You and that damn train. C'mon, we're gonna be late."


	7. Chapter 7

I stood on the bridge holding a basket in one hand and a shopping list in the other, looking around. I was supposed to be heading to the market with Frank that afternoon, since the weather had finally cleared up, to pick up candles for the evening lounge. I'd been waiting for at least half an hour and knowing Frank, I could only assume he had either taken a very long cigarette break, feigned illness or just decided not to turn up at all. I sighed and decided to just go by myself since I was already behind schedule and made my way into the market. I kept an eager eye out for the stall Ryan had bought the music box from but I frowned when I saw it had been replaced overnight with an exotic fabrics stall.   
After picking up the candles, I thought about stopping for lunch since Mr Wentz had slipped me and Spencer a tip for closing all the doors and windows this morning. I headed down towards the food court and paused when I spotted Mr Weekes stood by a stall eating from a food carton. He looked strange in his casual wear and I remembered Mr Wentz telling me that morning that Mr Weekes had specifically asked for me to not assist him. I was fine with it and assumed Mr Weekes had a day off work and wanted to sleep in. I told Ryan on the way to the laundry room how easy it was to look after Mr Weekes since he didn't seem to want or need any assistance.  
I hesitated a few moments before walking over to him and I tried to smile casually. "Hi, Mr Weekes."  
He turned and smiled down at me. "Brendon!" he mumbled through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and carried on, "I didn't expect to see you here. Shouldn't you be working?"  
I held up the basket. "I am. A-and I was gonna say the same thing to you," I added nervously, hoping he didn't think I was being rude.  
But he laughed and shook it off. "I'm working from here today," he gestured to the bath house. "Say, have you had any lunch?"  
I shook my head and lifted my chin to try and peer into the carton. "Not yet."  
"Want me to buy you some?" he asked, lowering the carton for me to look into.   
I paused and blinked up at him. "B-buy me some?"  
He nodded once and gave me a friendly smile. "Sure! I'll buy you some of this if you want. It's really good."  
I hesitated then shook my head. "I-I can't accept it from you, I'm sorry."  
Mr Weekes furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side. "Why? I'm not gonna spit in it or something, if that's what you're thinking."  
I blinked and laughed nervously, shaking my head. "O-oh no, no, of course not. I-I just don't think I have time," I stammered, checking my watch.   
Mr Weekes shrugged and smiled. "That's fine. You can take it with you," he said and walked over to the counter before I could say anything else. Helplessly, I watched him buy another carton and he handed it over to me with a bright smile.  
"There. No trouble," he said, passing me some cutlery. I blinked up at Mr Weekes in awe and he chuckled softly and ruffled my hair.   
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he smiled down at me.  
I shook myself out of my daze and quickly put the carton in my basket. "Thank you, Mr Weekes, thank you so much," I mumbled, hoping I sounded appreciative enough.  
Mr Weekes waved his hand dismissively. "It's perfectly alright. We should arrange to meet up for dinner another time."  
I paused and felt my cheeks flush. I caught him grinning at me out the corner of my eye and ducked my head to avoid meeting his gaze. "Y-yes. Yes we should," I mumbled, embarrassed.  
"Right then. I'll see you later, Brendon," Mr Weekes said and walked off in the opposite direction. I watched him disappear into the crowd, before turning and starting to run back to the bath house. I was still blushing when I passed Mr Wentz in the reception and he called to me.  
"C'mere, Urie," he said, gesturing for me.  
I stumbled over and looked up at him expectantly. "Y-yes, sir?"  
"I should've mentioned-" he paused when he saw my basket, "Oh. You've already been."  
I glanced down at the basket and nodded. "Yeah, I just went now. Why?"  
"I was supposed to tell you Iero called in sick today," he said and rolled his eyes. "Again. Thank you for doing it anyway, kid. I think Walker's on the bar at the moment. Go take them to him; he'll sort them out for you."  
"Yes, sir," I said and turned towards the evening lounge.


	8. Chapter 8

I passed Ryan in the corridor that evening while I was pushing the trolley to Mr Weekes' room.  
"You won't be long will you?" he asked, eyeing over the trolley.  
"I don't think so," I said. "Surely you can manage being away from me for too long?" I grinned teasingly.  
He frowned and smacked my arm. "Shut it. You know fully well I'm talking about going to Gerard's room in a minute."  
I stopped outside Mr Weekes' room and rubbed my arm, pouting. "Yeah, yeah, I know. No need to hit me," I mumbled and raised my hand to knock on the door but it opened before I could and Mr Weekes jumped slightly at the sight of us but smiled.  
"Oh, hi, boys," he said, looking between me and Ryan. Ryan gave an awkward smile, before poking my arm as a reminder for later and left without saying a word. Mr Weekes stepped back and opened the door wider to let me in. He peered down the corridor to watch Ryan leave.  
"Who's your friend?" he asked, closing the door behind him.  
"Mhm? Oh, that's Ryan," I said absent-mindedly, setting up the cutlery but paused to think, "I suppose he's my best friend."  
Mr Weekes crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "Why so uncertain?"  
I shrugged. "I dunno. I have a lot of friends here and I never thought about having a best one. But now that I have, I guess Ryan's my best friend."  
I glanced over at Mr Weekes. He had an amused expression on his face.  
"Can I ask you a question, Brendon?" he asked.  
"Sure."  
"How old are you?"  
"Sixteen," I answered, picking up the tray and taking it over to the small table set on the balcony. I placed it down and walked back to the trolley and I could tell Mr Weekes was eyeing me up and down. I ducked my head to hide my flushed cheeks.  
"I wouldn't have guessed that. You look older," he commented with a smile.  
I swallowed and kept my gaze away from his while I shakily poured him a glass of wine. After a quiet moment, I gained the courage to ask, "H-how old are you then, Mr Weekes?"  
Mr Weekes paused and blinked up at me. And then he grinned again. "I'm twenty-six," he replied.  
Fuck, I thought, that was a bigger age gap than I was expecting.  
"I-I wouldn't have guessed that," I repeated and turned to smile at him, "You look younger."  
Mr Weekes laughed and stood up to pat my back. "Ah, you're funny, kid," he said walking over to the balcony. I followed and handed him the wine glass after he sat down.  
"I-I believe that's everything-" I began but Mr Weekes patted the chair next to him.  
"Why don't you take a seat, Brendon?" he smiled up at me hopefully.  
I hesitated, then mumbled a "sure" and sat down on the edge of the seat nervously. Mr Weekes slumped back in his chair and sipped from his glass.  
"I'd love to wake up to this every morning," he said and it took me a moment to realise he was talking about the view.  
"O-oh yeah, it's beautiful," I said, instinctively squinting for the train station.  
"I passed this place on the train a couple of years ago and I've been meaning to visit it for so long," he said, not looking at me.  
I paused and felt my heart flutter slightly. "Y-you... You've been on the train?"  
Mr Weekes looked at me blankly. "Uh... Yeah, of course I have. Why? Haven't you?"  
I shook my head and looked down. "No. Not yet anyway. Ryan tried to get tickets but he didn't manage."  
Mr Weekes looked confused. "Why can't you get them?"  
"They're damn expensive! I'd have to save up for months to get one. No, make that years!"  
He frowned. "I doubt it would take you years. Where was Ryan going to take you?"  
"Valnesse City," I said, slumping down into the chair. "He had a list of places he wanted to take me."  
I heard Mr Weekes chuckle softly. "What a sweet kid," he said and took another sip.  
I glanced at him and smiled. "Yeah, he is. H-he bought me a present to make up for not going. He bought me a music box with the last of his money."  
Mr Weekes looked back at me with his eyebrows raised. "Wow. You keep hold of that kid, Brendon. He sounds like a keeper."  
I blushed and looked back at the sea. "What's Valnesse like?"  
"Beautiful," he said. "Just really beautiful. Very busy as well. But working here, I'm sure you're used to that."  
I scoffed and ran a hand through my hair. "I hate working here."  
Mr Weekes gave me a sympathetic look. "I can imagine why. But how come you're still here?"  
"I've been bound to this place since I was born. Well, that's what my grandma told me. She said working here is the only thing I'll ever do. I'll never make it anywhere else."  
Mr Weekes frowned and looked over at me. "Hey, don't say things like that. You'll never get to Valnesse if you think like that."  
I glanced over at him and sighed, slumping even further into my seat. "I just want to see something else. Something other than the bath house."  
"And you will see it some day," Mr Weekes said, reaching his hand over to pat my arm, "You just need to give it some time. Things will change for you. They'll get better."  
I looked at him again and smiled slightly. "Th-thank you, Mr Weekes," I said.  
He smiled back and squeezed my arm. "You'll make it, Brendon. Trust me."  
I glanced down at my watch and sighed. "I'd better go."  
"Oh," Mr Weekes said, sounding disappointed. "Oh of course, you're meeting with Ryan. That's fine. Thank you for bringing me dinner. I can't get any work done in the restaurant," he said, getting up and leading me to the door. He opened it for me and smiled down at me. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.  
I smiled back and he hesitantly reached out and patted my shoulder.  
"G-goodnight, Mr Weekes," I said, slightly flustered by his touch. He smiled and winked before closing the door behind him. I stood out in the quiet corridor for a long moment grinning madly to myself, then laughed and started running.


	9. Chapter 9

"Brendon!"  
I looked up and saw Gabe sticking his head round the door. He nodded to me. "Mr Wentz wants to see you."  
I frowned and put the plate I was washing up on the draining board. "Why?"  
Gabe shrugged. "No idea. But I'd get going if I was you," and left.  
I swallowed and undid my apron. Spencer took it from me and leaned across to hang it up. He muttered, "I doubt you're in trouble. Don't worry."  
I nodded, trying to take his word for it, and left the kitchens.   
Mr Wentz was sat at his usual place behind his desk in the reception. He looked up as soon as I walked in and gestured for me to come over.   
"Urie, Mr Weekes wants a bath. Go arrange it for him," he said shortly, scribbling in his reception book.  
I froze and blinked up at him. "What?"  
Mr Wentz frowned down at me. "Go run bath 6. Now," he said sternly, handing me a token and turned away to greet a customer. I gripped the token tightly. I could feel my cheeks turning red and tried to block out the titillating images that were creeping into my thoughts as I stumbled nervously back through the hallways to the bath room.   
Bath 6 was empty and I was thankful to whoever cleaned it that morning. I hung up the curtains on the hooks and set about preparing the bath. After sending the token up the shoot, I pulled the cord on the half pipe and pulled it down over the bath where it began filling up. I was kneeling down arranging soaps and cleansing products in their basket when I heard someone cough behind me. I peered over my shoulder and saw Mr Weekes standing in the archway in a white dressing gown. I stood up quickly and smiled, hoping like hell I wasn't blushing. Or at least he wouldn't notice I was.   
"Is it ready, Brendon?" Mr Weekes asked, his head tilted every so slightly to the side.   
I blinked and nodded quickly, stuttering, "Y-yeah, yeah, it is. Th-this way, Mr Weekes."   
I picked up the towels and quickly ran over to place them outside. "I-I'll be waiting out here, Mr Weekes. Help yourself to anything," I said, gesturing to the basket of soaps.   
Mr Weekes frowned slightly and pursed his lips. "Not helping me bathe?" he asked.  
I paused and I felt my face flush completely. "I-I d-don't think I-I..." I began to mumble but he waved his hand dismissively.   
"It doesn't matter really. I doubt I've got anything you haven't seen before," he grinned and started undoing his bathrobe.   
I stared in complete awe before I tore my eyes away from the spectacle and rushed over to the archway. "M-Mr Weekes, wait!"  
He stopped and looked over at me as I fumbled with the curtains, getting one caught on the hook. I fumbled desperately with it and I froze when a pair of gentle hands lured mine away to carefully unhook the curtain. Mr Weekes pulled the curtain closed and smiled down at me cheerily.   
"Th-thank you," I mumbled shyly and he chuckled softly in response. He returned to the edge of the bath and I looked away as he shrugged off his robe. I kept my head ducked and my eyes on the floor, determined not to sneak a peek.   
"Brendon?"  
I glanced up. Mr Weekes was holding out the bathrobe expectantly. He gave me a small encouraging smile and I quickly went over to take it from him and hang it up. He leant back against the ledge and watched me stand awkwardly by the archway unsure of what to do. Mr Weekes chuckled softly and patted the floor next to him.  
"Lay a towel down. Come and sit with me," he said.  
I hesitated before picking up a towel off the pile. I was a hundred percent sure I wasn't supposed to be doing this. Mr Wentz always talked about how important customer privacy was but Mr Weekes didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He was even encouraging me to sit with him. I'd never done anything like this before.   
I sat down and fumbled with my fingers and Mr Weekes smiled up at me gaily. He was completely relaxed and I couldn't for the life of me understand why.  
"How's your friend today, Brendon?" he asked casually.   
"Ryan?"  
"Hm."  
"Oh, he's alright," I said, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. "Why do you ask?"  
"He seemed a little grumpy when I passed him earlier," Mr Weekes replied, rubbing his upper arm.  
I huffed a small laugh. "Don't worry about him, Mr Weekes. He's always like that. He'll be especially grumpy about those train tickets for a while as well. It'll be alright," I said, tugging the thread off.  
"That was a real shame," Mr Weekes commented somewhat absent-mindedly and I gave him a quick glance while he turned to reach the basket. Just the sight of water droplets cascading over his back muscles sent a shiver down my spine and a blush to my cheeks and I promptly looked down to hide my flustered face.   
"Y-yeah, it is," I mumbled, fumbling nervously with my sleeve, looking for another loose thread.  
"I suppose I could help you with that," Mr Weekes said, sitting back against the side of the bath.   
I looked up and shook my head quickly, frowning. "O-oh no, no, you don't have to do that. We'll manage it ourselves. Y-you don't have to help," I gabbled.  
Mr Weekes pursed his lips slightly and shrugged. "Whatever you want. But you're missing out on quite a bit."  
I sighed and looked down again, turning my attention to the stitching on my pants for a loose thread. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Weekes hesitate and reach over to pat my arm and I flinched slightly at his touch.   
"Sorry, Brendon," he said softly and squeezed my upper arm as a form of comfort. "I've always been a bit..."   
He stopped as though lost for words. I nodded quickly, fiddling with my fingers, eyes still focused on anything but him.  
"I get it. Privileged boy. Anything you ever wanted, you got. We get your kind round here all the time," I said, a little too disdainfully than I meant to be.  
Mr Weekes frowned and opened his mouth to what I could only assume to defend himself but he closed his mouth and sunk down against the edge of the bath while he thought of a response.  
Before he could, I spoke; "What's it like being rich, Mr Weekes?" I dared another quick glance at him.  
He frowned again to himself. "Good," he simply said, after a quiet moment. Mr Weekes then looked up at me with a curious expression and sat up straight. He shuffled closer to me, some water washing over the edge of the bath as he crossed his arms and rested his chin on his forearms. Mr Weekes blinked up at me and I gathered enough to courage to look back at him with an equally curious expression.   
"What's it like being poor?" he asked.  
I frowned. "I'm not poor," I lied.   
"What's it like being paid minimum wage?" he tried again.   
I rolled my eyes. "Damn difficult. You should try it sometime."  
Mr Weekes pursed his lips in contemplation for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Hey, you should try being rich," he said, perking up slightly.  
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" I snapped, glaring down at him.   
Mr Weekes grinned and the shiver trickled down my spine again. I tried not to react to it. "You should come and stay with me sometime. I'll show you how to live."  
I paused and blinked at him. "St-stay with you...?"  
He shrugged and smiled. "You don't have to but I'd like you to."  
I could feel my cheeks flushing and my fingers trembling. "I-I don't think I could, Mr Weekes," I stuttered.  
He simply smiled, unphased by my nervousness. "Up to you, Brendon." He turned around again and reached back over for the basket. I frowned down at my lap and thought over Mr Weekes' proposal.  
"Y-you barely know me," I mumbled after a few silent minutes.   
"I'm here for a few more days. That should be enough time."  
He sounded so optimistic and I sat there in silent bewilderment until he turned around and smiled up at me again.  
"Think I've been in here long enough?" he asked, cheerfully.  
"Y-your decision, Mr Weekes," I mumbled, looking away again.  
"I think I'm done," Mr Weekes said and I promptly got up and fetched him some towels.  
"I-I'll be outside," I said, placing the towels down on a dry area and dashed out behind the curtains before he could say anything.


	10. Chapter 10

I had to stay behind and clean up after Mr Weekes left Bath 6 to prepare it for the next client. I muttered angrily to myself about being so dumb and shy and that Mr Weekes was just another customer and he wasn't the first customer that had asked me to live with them or even marry them; as whenever I had a customer, as rare as the occurrence was, they were often perverted big city fat cats escaping their wives to lust over young born and bred country folk like me who had no obligation but to obey their every command. I never slept with them, or did anything remotely sexual at all and I was intent on keeping it this way. And I told myself, oh how I told myself, Mr Weekes was not going to be an exception.  
I scrubbed at the floor roughly but footsteps behind me made me slow down and I slowly peered over my shoulder to see Mr Wentz standing in the archway, leaning against the frame. His arms were folded and he had one eyebrow arched.  
"You'll scratch the polish off if you're not careful," he said, flatly.  
I swallowed and put the scrubbing brush back in the bucket. "S-sorry, sir," I mumbled.  
"Doesn't matter, Urie." Mr Wentz looked as though he was about to say something but changed his mind and frowned slightly.  
"No," he muttered to himself and instead said, "Mr Weekes wants your assistance in his room."  
I nodded and stood up. I eyed Mr Wentz cautiously. He didn't quite seem himself and I hoped it had nothing to do with me. I picked up my cleaning bucket and walked towards him to leave, internally praying he wouldn't say anything but my prayers weren't answered as usual and Mr Wentz spoke up.  
"H-how's Ross, Urie?"  
I paused and frowned. Ryan? Why was Mr Wentz asking after Ryan?  
"No more irritable than usual. Why?"  
Mr Wentz blinked. "He's always like that?" he asked, a soft, sad glint of hope in his voice.  
I nodded. ""Born a grumpy bastard, died a grumpy bastard". That's what he'll have on his gravestone," I said, hoping I wouldn't get scolded for using curses.   
Mr Wentz ignored them thankfully and stood up straight. "Okay," he said, running a hand through his hair, "That's okay."  
"Why is everyone so worried about Ryan today?" I asked.  
Mr Wentz gave me a brief look of confusion, then frowned. "What do you mean 'everyone'?"  
"Well, I didn't mean everyone exactly," I corrected myself, "Mr Weekes asked about him earlier too."  
Mr Wentz shrugged. "Maybe it's his demeanour. Tell him to cheer up. He's putting off customers," he said, promptly slipping back into authority and with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor.  
I sighed heavily knowing the notion of telling Ryan to cheer up would only result in me getting a hard smack on the arm and left down the opposite corridor.


	11. Chapter 11

Mr Weekes was still wrapped in a towel when I entered his room. He was sat on the edge of his bed reading a book and looked up and smiled when he saw me.  
"Hey, Brendon. Mind giving me some help?" he said, getting up and walking over to the folding screen in the corner of the room.  
"Of course," I said, suddenly finding it odd how Mr Weekes needed my help getting dressed now and not the last few days. I didn't say anything about it though and walked over to the folding screen. His suit was already hung up and I glanced over my shoulder and checked the clock on the wall.  
"Seems a bit late to be heading out to work," I commented, taking the damp towel off him and dropped it into the laundry basket I'd brought up with me.  
"Oh, I haven't got work," he said, his hand reaching over the top of the screen to take his shirt from me, "It's this big company dinner tonight."  
"Ah, I see. So was this your day off?"  
"Uh huh. Thanks for keeping me company earlier, Brendon," Mr Weekes said and I felt my cheeks flush at the memory.  
"N-no problem, Mr Weekes," I mumbled, handing Mr Weekes his tie.  
"I told you before you don't have to call me Mr Weekes, didn't I?" he said and I paused.  
"Oh. Oh yeah, sorry. Force of habit," I said, and Mr Weekes' hand appeared comically over the top of the screen to fetch his pants.  
"It's fine. But you can call me Dallon if you want."  
I hesitated. "I-I'd rather I didn't, M-Mr Weekes," I said and looked down as he stepped out from behind the screen doing up the button on his pants.  
"Hm? Why not?"  
His tie was off centre and I nervously reached up to adjust it back into place. Mr Weekes gave me this irritatingly adorable small smile in return.  
"I-I don't know. I kinda prefer it for some reason," I admitted and stepped back. Mr Weekes shrugged and continued with that smile.  
"That's alright." He took his suit jacket from me and peered in the mirror on the dressing table at himself as he adjusted the jacket. "Do I look alright?"  
"You look drop dead gorgeous and I'm extremely jealous and aroused," I wanted to say but gave him a simple smile and a nod instead.  
Mr Weekes grinned and looked back at the mirror. He paused in thought for a moment and pursed his lips. "Hey, Brendon? Are you busy this evening?"  
I blinked and reluctantly nodded. "Unfortunately yes. Waiter duty all evening. Why?"  
"Oh. That's a shame. I wanted you to come with me tonight," Mr Weekes said, running a hand through his hair and smiled down at me. "Never mind."  
I blushed and gawped up at him. "Y-you... You want me to go to a fancy black tie dinner with you?"  
Mr Weekes raised his eyebrows and nodded, still smiling at me. "Yeah. But you can't," he said and shrugged. "Some other time maybe."  
I was struggling to comprehend the idea. "Wha... Why me?"  
Mr Weekes shrugged. " Why not? I like you."  
I blushed deeper and looked away. "O-oh..." was all I could mumble softly. I heard Mr Weekes chuckle softly and he stepped forward and carefully placed a hand on my shoulder. I jumped slightly at his touch and peered up at him meekly.  
"I like you a lot, Brendon," Mr Weekes said, his voice softening to a whisper and his hand creeped up my neck to gently cup my blushing cheek.  
"M-Mr Weekes..." I mumbled, my voice barely audible and he leaned in and softly kissed my lips. Mr Weekes closed his eyes but mine stayed wide open and unable to discern what was happening. My lips trembled against his and when he pulled away I saw his cheeks were a light shade of pink. Mr Weekes laughed softly and took his hand away to wipe his lips. He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, almost looking embarrassed and all I could do was stare at him in awe.  
"B-Brendon, I..." he started and then gave another soft shaky laugh.  
"Wh-why did y-you do that...?" I stuttered after a long awkward silence.  
Mr Weekes paused and looked at me warily. "Uh... I-I..." he mumbled and swallowed before trying again, shrugging, "I-I like you, Brendon."  
My look of astonishment towards him stayed fixed. It was weird; obviously that wasn't my first kiss. My first was with a girl who lived in my neighbourhood while I was growing up. It was a neophytes kiss on the lips over the fence of her front yard after I walked her home from school and I was so flustered and embarrassed afterwards that I tripped over my own shoe laces when I walked away. I was pretty sure her name was Katie and I hadn't seen her since I was twelve when she left to live up in the North Isles. She'd tried to kiss me goodbye but I'd ducked out the way and just hugged her clumsily.  
I hadn't been that awkward and dumb until now with Mr Weekes. He reignited the old spark of worry and embarrassment I got in my stomach when I had kissed Katie all those years ago. But I was older now. And supposedly braver.  
"D-do it again," I mumbled before I could stop myself, my cheeks burning shamelessly.  
Mr Weekes blinked at me. "H-huh?"  
I swallowed and looked up at him, trying to keep my eyes focused on his. "Kiss me," I repeated, a little louder this time.  
Mr Weekes gazed at me for a long moment before laughing awkwardly and stepping forward. He placed his hand on my hip this time and leaned in, kissing a little less gently this time. His eyes were closed again and I eventually managed to close mine as well and relaxed into the kiss.  
The knock on the door made my heart stop. My lips tore away from his instantly and I stumbled back. Mr Weekes gave me a blank look for a second, as though he hadn't heard the knock but he put on a smile and straightened his jacket as he walked over to the door.  
It was one of Mr Wentz's many messenger boy, Brent, at the door. He regraded us both a questioning look before saying, "You're late for laundry duty, Brendon," and left down the corridor without another word.  
Mr Weekes looked over at me and I sighed and quickly peered into his mirror. I straightened out uniform and hair and looked up at Mr Weekes. I shrugged and smiled a little. Mr Weekes smiled back and leant forward to just kiss my cheek this time.  
"I'll see you later," he said.  
I hesitated by the door and went up on my tip toes to kiss his cheek back. "Bye, Mr Weekes."


	12. Chapter 12

I tried to avoid Brent's inquisitive eye that evening and prayed he wouldn't mention anything to Ryan. I had most of the next day off, apart from a laundry shift in the late evening, and, as we usually did, we went fishing off the back of the bath house on the ledge below the employees smoking balcony early that next morning. The sun was still coming up when we arrived and we sat in a comfortable silence for a long time.   
I desperately wanted to tell Ryan everything that had happened yesterday but at the same time I didn't. I never wanted him to find out about me and Mr Weekes and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. I didn't say anything about Mr Weekes and told Ryan about Mr Wentz instead.  
"Asked after me? Why?" Ryan asked, fumbling with the bait on his hook.   
I shrugged. "Dunno. Probably because you're always grumpy. He said to tell you that you need to cheer up because you're putting off customers."  
I practically heard Ryan roll his eyes. "Oh he can shut the fuck up. How does he expect me act all happy and shit with all the customers he throws at me. I've got five at the moment, Bren. Five. Doesn't he know how fucking stressful that is?"  
"Obviously not. Maybe you should talk to him? Ask him to give some customers to other people?" I suggested, adjusting my line.  
Ryan sighed. "I don't really want to do that, Bren. I'm milking enough tips from these two CEOs to last me a life time. And they aren't here for much longer. There's no way we'll be able to get train tickets if I give them up now."  
I looked up at him, my eyebrows furrowed. "Y'know new clothes might be a little important than train tickets, Ryan," I said, casting an eye over his worn shirt and threadbare pants.  
Ryan gave me a scornful look and glanced down at his own clothes. "What's wrong with these?"  
"We haven't been clothes shopping for months, Ryan. All my socks have holes in them and my pants have split here," I said, lifting my knee to show Ryan the split on the crotch of my pants. He leaned forward to peer and pulled a face at me.  
"Oh. I think you're right." He sighed and flung his line over his shoulder and out to sea. Feeling like I'd ruined the mood, I tried something different.  
"What time do you have to go back, Ryan?"  
Ryan frowned and thought for a moment and checked his watch. "Uh... 9 o'clock I think. We've got plenty of time. It's a shame we can't get days off at the same time anymore."  
Ryan and I used to have one Thursday a week off together where we'd spend the morning cleaning our room or wandering round the market and the afternoons in the fields outside the town where we'd talk and watch clouds and pick flowers and had occasionally shared a little sheepish kiss. There wasn't much else to do around here but we were used to that. It was the lack of entertainment which got us so hyped up about Valnesse. Neither of us had ever been there and after Ryan bought a guidebook at a stall in the market one afternoon, we were more determined to get there than ever with all this new information we'd learned about it.   
That determination stuck with us a year later where, whenever we got a spare moment to daydream, we would talk about everything we wanted to do. We were pretty sure we'd memorised every landmark and it's purpose in Valnesse at this point so these conversations often ran their course and we'd often talk about everything else under the sun.  
We spent most of the early morning chitchatting about nothing in particular while the pile of fish gradually rose behind me in the ice box we'd borrowed from the store room in the kitchen. We packed up before 9 o'clock just to ensure Ryan wouldn't be late for his duties.  
"I'll take the rods back," Ryan said, holding his hand out to take mine.  
"Take the bait as well," I said, giving the rod to him and glanced round for the bait tin.  
"How much do you think we'll get for all that?" Ryan asked, reaching over me to pick up the tin, nodding towards the ice box.  
"Uh," I peered over and did a vague count, "Quite a bit. We'll spend the money on clothes, yeah? And if there's some left over, it could be saved for tickets," I said, smiling at Ryan hopefully.  
This seemed to make him perk up a little and Ryan nodded and smiled back cheerfully. "Yeah! Right, I'd better go get changed," he said, getting to his feet. I watched him walk over to the stairs and call back, "I'm in the kitchens all day! Remember to turn up later, Bren!"  
"I will! Bye!" I called back. I stayed on the ledge for a while after Ryan left. I let my legs swing over the edge and tried to count all the colours the sky had been during the sunrise. Watching the sun come up with Ryan had fast become my favourite thing to do when I first arrived here and it had remained that way even until now.   
I heard the train whistle in the distance but I was too far over to see it and I could tell by the train it was nearly 10 o'clock. The usual foul smell of cigarette smoke rolled its way down to my ledge and I knew it was definitely time to get going. I folded up the carpet we used to sit on since the ledge wasn't exactly clean and placed it on top of the ice box. I carried them both down the winding external pathway around the bath house and stepped out onto the bridge. I left the carpet by the entrance and hoped I would remember to put it back in the utility closet but knowing me, I probably wouldn't. The bridge was flooded with people and I was suddenly relieved it was my day off. I felt glad that Ryan was hidden away in the kitchens today instead of dealing with all these people.  
I made my way down to the market to set up my stall. I'd been selling fish here for so long, everyone expected me once a week in the same spot around the same time. I dealt with the customers, made small talk with the other stall owners, joked around with the regulars and by 4 o'clock the display case was empty and so was my stomach. The other stall owners I was friendly with would often try and give me food for free but I didn't like accepting it without paying, which I would do so despite their complaints. I bought off the charming young lady I'd made friends with but could never remember her name, who owned the stall opposite mine after I packed up my stuff. I sat back against my chair in the late afternoon sun just in front of the stall and planned on wiling away the afternoon daydreaming as I usually did.


	13. Chapter 13

"Hey, Brendon, you never told me you had a stall."  
The fluster in my stomach wrenched me from my daydream when I instantly recognised the familiar voice. I quickly rubbed my eyes and squinted up at a tall figure standing over me. The amber glow of the afternoon sun reflected on the figures skin and it took me what felt like centuries to pin a name to a face in my dazed state.  
"M-Mr Weekes?"  
He chuckled and winked. "Afternoon, sunshine."  
I blushed instantly and scrabbled to sit up. "H-hi," I mumbled awkwardly.  
"Whatcha selling?" Mr Weekes asked, peering over me at the now empty display.  
I followed his gaze and glanced over my shoulder to look at it too. "O-oh, me and Ryan went fishing this morning. Thought we'd make some money out of it," I shrugged.  
Mr Weekes raised an eyebrow but kept his bright smile. "Fishing? I've never been fishing before."  
I hesitated a moment. "M-maybe we could take you with us some time," I suggested, looking down and playing with my hands nervously.  
"I'd like that," Mr Weekes replied and the smile on his face was obvious through his voice. "So have you been here all day?"  
I nodded. "Started selling around 10," I paused to scratch the back of my neck, "B-been to work today?" I asked, casting an eye over Mr Weekes' casual clothes.  
He nodded and shoved his hands in pockets. "Yup. Got back an hour ago. Thought I'd come out for a stroll."  
There was an awkward pause whilst I thought of something to say but Mr Weekes spoke before I could, "Well, I'd better be off. Got some important stuff to pick up."  
I stole a glance at his face and nodded. "A-alright. I'll see you around?" I said, not meaning for it to sound like a question.   
Mr Weekes shrugged and smiled. "Maybe. See you, kid," and walked off.   
I had to tear my eyes away from watching him leave and I breathed out heavily and rubbed my eyes. I should've started heading back by then but I had no motivation to move and I supposed I was comfortable enough here. I called to the lady on the stall opposite me and asked her what the time was. She replied that it was around 6 o'clock and I slumped back down into my chair. It was a while before I decided to get going.   
"I'm back," I heard someone say as I was packing up the ice box and Mr Weekes was stood behind me with that agonizingly adorable grin which made my stomach twist in knots. He was holding a small parcel in his hand and almost seemed to be hiding it behind his thigh.   
"Hi, Mr Weekes," I said cheerily, ignoring the parcel and lifted the ice box onto the floor.  
"I see you've got nothing done since I left," he commented and I stuck my tongue out at him. Mr Weekes chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. I gave him a curious look, my head tilted slightly. He seemed as though as he had something to say and I eyed the parcel knowingly. I could guess quite easily who that was for.  
"H-hey, Brendon," he started and licked his lips nervously, looking down, "Y-you know my uh... My offer still stands from yesterday."  
I paused for a second. What offer?  
"The one about coming to stay with me after I go?" Mr Weekes prompted, his voice hopeful and my heart fluttered slightly at the memory.  
"O-oh yeah," I mumbled shyly, looking down.   
"Are you thinking about it?" I could tell he was trying his hardest not to sound pushy.  
Honestly, I'd forgotten about it completely. I was too caught up in the memory of Mr Weekes' lips against mine to remember anything he'd really said and I gulped and rubbed my arm nervously.  
"I-I have," I lied, "B-but I don't know. I don't know if I'd be allowed anyway."  
Mr Weekes frowned slightly. "Not allowed?"  
"M-Mr Wentz probably wouldn't let me have time off a-and I don't think my grandma would be pleased about me staying with someone she doesn't know..."  
Mr Weekes' frown deepened. "Your grandma? But... Y-you live with your grandma?"  
I shook my head quickly. "No, no. I live there," I gestured to the bath house, "With Ryan and Spencer. Grandma raised me in the village. I-I'm supposed to visit her every chance I can get but uh..." I shrugged, "I don't. And she's kinda protective and I don't think she'd like it i-if I went-"  
"Brendon, Brendon!" Mr Weekes interrupted me, his hands held up. "Brendon, it's fine. Look, you wouldn't be on your own. You could bring Ryan with you. Or even Spencer. Your grandma knows them, right? She wouldn't have to know about me. And I'm sure I could talk Mr Wentz into letting you have some time off."  
I blinked. There he was again. Emphatically optimistic. I just didn't understand it.   
"Seriously though, Brendon, if you don't want to come then just tell me. I can take rejection. I honestly don't mind."  
I bit my lip and looked down. Thinking about it now, I really did want to go with him. I really, really did. It seemed so easy the way he'd planned it out. I let out a sigh and looked up at him.  
"I..." I started, all the confidence I built up vanishing as I looked at his face.   
"You...?" he prompted, giving me a small smile as encouragement.   
I gulped and tried again. "I-I w-want to go w-with you, Mr Weekes," I stammered and tried attempted to smile at him.   
Mr Weekes grinned and took a step forward with his arms out for a hug but faltered when I didn't do the same. He put his arms by his sides looking embarrassed and simply smiled.   
"Good. Right then. I'll get that sorted for you," Mr Weekes said, looking around awkwardly and I felt bad. I hesitantly took a step closer and gently wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my forehead on his chest. He relaxed after a moment and hugged me back.   
"S-sorry," I mumbled against him and he craned his neck to look down at me.  
"What for?"  
"Not taking the hint before," I smiled up at Mr Weekes genially and he did the same back to me.  
"I forgive you," Mr Weekes chuckled and leaned in to kiss me. I panicked, remembering we were in a public place where these people actually knew me, and I turned my face away at the last minute, his lips brushing against my cheek.   
"Brendon?"  
I stepped back from him and shook my head. "N-not here," I mumbled, glancing round nervously.  
Mr Weekes nodded with a grin. "Oh, yes!" he said, remembering the parcel in his hand and held it out for me. "I guess you'll be needing this then," he smiled proudly.  
I frowned in confusion and carefully took it from him, examining the paper wrapping. "Wh-what is it?" I asked.  
"Actually," Mr Weekes began, looking round and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Let's open this somewhere else."  
I blinked up at him. "Oh, uh... Okay," I said, pocketing the parcel. "Where do you want to go?"  
Mr Weekes pursed his lips slightly and peered round. "Let's go for a walk," he said, patting my arm.  
I frowned and glanced over my shoulder at my stuff. "Wh-what about..?" I started but Mr Weekes shook his head and smiled .  
"Just pick it up on your way back. We won't be long."  
I nodded uncertainly and gave it one quick glance over my shoulder before taking Mr Weekes' arm and walking beside him.


	14. Chapter 14

Mr Weekes hadn't been any further than the market and said many times on the walk how much he had been missing out on these past few days. He marvelled at the flowers and the rolling fields, the grazing animals and the clear early dusk on the distant horizon like he'd never seen the sun set before and all I could do was smile.   
"I didn't realise the village was this far away," Mr Weekes said, peering up at the crossroad sign. It pointed in four different directions; Merriborough, Angels and Kings Bath House, Lhanbryde and Marren's Eve.   
"Which one are you from?"   
"Merriborough," I said, "It's the furthest one. But grandma lives in Marren's Eve over there. "  
Mr Weekes smiled. "Just from the names they sound lovely," he said and I shrugged and pursed my lips.  
"I guess it's lovely but you wouldn't want to grow up there. It's really boring."  
Mr Weekes chuckled. "For a kid, I guess you're right."  
I tugged at Mr Weekes arm, suddenly remembering the parcel. "Mr Weekes, can I open it now?"  
He blinked down at me and his lips spread into a grin. "Oh yes! Of course. We shouldn't be bothered far out here, right?"  
I shook my head and lead him over to sit on the old wooden bench just under the crossroad sign. I remember when it was first put there; I was about five and had always felt pride in the fact that I'd been the first one to sit on it. It was dedicated to a man who used to live across the street from me and my grandma. His name was barely legible on the rusted plate and the hedgerow behind it was slowly starting to creep over and consume the back of the bench.  
I took the parcel out and settled down next to Mr Weekes. I could tell by his anxious smile that he was worried I wouldn't like whatever was in this little parcel and I hoped for his sake that I did. I carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal a small black box. I peered at it for a moment and gave Mr Weekes an encouraging glance before carefully lifting the lid. Inside were a pair of... Cufflinks?   
I looked up at Mr Weekes in confusion. I'd never worn cufflinks in my life. These ones looked horribly expensive, something I'd have to save up for months to afford.  
"What do you think?"  
I bit my lip. "M-Mr Weekes, I... These look far too expensive. You really shouldn't have," I said, attempting to give the box back to him.  
He frowned and shook his head. "They weren't, trust me. They were a pair I bought when I first started working for this company. I want you to have them," Mr Weekes smiled hopefully.  
"But... But why?" I asked, then realised how rude that must have sounded and tried to explain myself quickly, gabbling, "I-I mean they must be something special to you a-and I don't even have any fancy shirts to use them on..."  
Mr Weekes chuckled softly. "They are special. But I want you to have them. And anyway, that's why I wanted to give them to you now. Because you agreed to come to visit me and I wanted to you to look smart for when we go out to dinner. The cufflinks are just the start."  
I blinked. "Y-you... You want to buy me new clothes?"  
Mr Weekes nodded and smiled. "No offence, but you do look like you could do with some new ones. I'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if you wanted."  
I felt awfully overwhelmed with all these offers Mr Weekes was making and I knew I shouldn't turn them down, not when they were this good, but something in me felt it wasn't right to get Mr Weekes to waste money on me.   
"Y-you really don't have to, Mr Weekes. I can afford my own clothes," I mumbled, putting the box on my lap.  
"Oh, don't be silly, Brendon. I want to buy you them. You deserve nice things," Mr Weekes smiled and I looked away to hide my flustered cheeks.   
"C'mon. Let me treat you," he said, shuffling closer and draping his arm over my shoulders. He squeezed my arm and I sighed and relaxed back against him.   
"Fine. I doubt I'll ever get an opportunity this good ever again."  
Mr Weekes shrugged. "From what I've seen, you lot get these opportunities every day."  
I frowned. "Yeah, but it's different with you."  
"How?" Mr Weekes asked.  
"Because you actually like me," I said. I looked up at him and he chuckled and kissed my forehead.  
"Oh I understand. Well I wasn't really planning on doing anything of that sort, just so you know."  
I raised my eyebrows and looked down. "Sure."  
"You don't believe me?" Mr Weekes said and I suddenly felt bad.  
"N-no, I do, I do but..." I faltered and sighed. I fumbled with the box in my hands and slumped down against him.  
When I heard Mr Weekes chuckle, I looked up immediately and frowned. "What's so funny?"  
He smirked and shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. I don't mind if you don't trust me, Brendon, but it's going to make things awfully difficult for you when you come to stay with me."  
I paused and swallowed. He raised a good point but I'd been offered these opportunities continuously for two and a half years and they just didn't seem all that honest anymore. I guess I did trust Mr Weekes but he needed to at least understand I was still going to be wary of him. I just couldn't seem to say it.   
Instead I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, Mr Weekes."  
"You don't need to apologise, Brendon, it's fine. But please believe me when I say nothing bad is going to happen to you. I'll keep you safe," Mr Weekes said with that awfully adorable smile.  
I couldn't help but smile back and hesitantly sat up to kiss Mr Weekes' cheek. He quickly cupped my cheek, grinned at me for a moment, his eyes quickly scanning over my face before leaning in and kissing me softly. I was more prepared this time than I had first been and closed my eyes instantly. I relaxed pretty well also but as Mr Weekes' mouth became rougher on mine, the kiss deepening, I suddenly wasn't so sure of myself. I made these odd, soft whimpering noises and I could feel my cheeks becoming warmer from the embarrassment. Mr Weekes didn't let up, placing one hand on my thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze as though to assure me; but it didn't work and I broke the kiss and looked away quickly. There was a brief silence. I could still feel his lips on mine and I was trying everything to go against my instincts and wipe my mouth when Mr Weekes squeezed my thigh again and spoke softly.  
"Brendon? Brendon, was that too much?" he asked.  
I frowned slightly, annoyed at myself that I found something as easy as kissing so difficult all of a sudden and I shook my head. He knew I was lying of course.  
"I'll go easier next time, I promise. I'm sorry."  
"Don't be," I retorted suddenly and pushing the bundle of nerves in my stomach to the side for a second, I sat up and kissed Mr Weekes roughly. He was surprised at first, instinctively putting his hands on my shoulders, about to shove me away but relaxed almost instantly and gripped my shoulders to pull me closer. Our chests pressed together and Mr Weekes' hands slid down my arms and round my waist. I shivered from his touch and my back stiffened, my chest rising, pushing more against his. Mr Weekes suddenly broke the kiss and ducked his head to start laying feather soft kisses on my neck and I rolled my head back instinctively, exposing more of my neck for him. My lips trembled and I opened my eyes slightly; only to gasp and suddenly jerk away from Mr Weekes. I stumbled to my feet and Mr Weekes sat frozen, watching me, confusion washed over his features.   
"B-Brendon...?"  
"I-I'm really late!" I nearly yelled, brushing myself down and turned on my heel to run off. Mr Weekes got up quickly and grabbed my arm, stopping me.  
"A-are you sure it wasn't me?" he asked, his whole face contorted into this worried expression that made my heart hurt to look at.  
I shook my head quickly and jerked my arm out of his grip. "N-no, of course not, Mr Weekes! I really am late."  
Mr Weekes nodded and waved his hand at me. "Alright, get going. I'll catch up with you later."  
I gave him a quick smile and started running for my life.


	15. Chapter 15

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ryan hissed at me. I'd only just walked into the laundry room, sweating and panting and stopped next to Ryan to wipe my forehead. I had to make the trip back to our room and the kitchen and utility room to take the ice box and the carpet back and had nearly tripped on the stairs on my way down to the laundry room. With the definite knowledge that Mr Wentz would kill me if he knew I was late, since I'd somehow managed to sneak through the reception without him noticing me, I was in no mood to deal with Ryan's shit.  
"Market," I muttered between pants and brushed my hair out my face before picking up a pile of dry towels and placing on the right shelf.   
"Do you know how much trouble you're going to get into when Mr Wentz finds out?" Ryan hissed and I froze and glared at him.   
"I'm not going t get into trouble because he's not going to find out," I said firmly and pointed at him, "Because you're going to keep your trap shut."  
Ryan huffed and went back to scrubbing a bed sheet rather roughly. I turned my back on him and we worked silently for the rest of our shift. When Ryan stood up and sighed, I realised our shift was over and placed the last of the sheets away.  
"I wasn't going to tell him anyway," Ryan uttered, drying off his washboard. I walked over and picked up his tub and took it to the sink.  
"I know," I said, emptying the contents of the tub down the drain.  
Ryan frowned in confusion. "Then why did you say that to me?"  
"Because I'm terrified of Mr Wentz, Ryan, and I would probably have heart failure if he found out I was late."  
Ryan said nothing and looked down. I wiped off the tub and held it while I waited for Ryan to finish. He stood up and threw the rag at the sink. He eyed me for a moment before speaking.  
"Where were you really?" he asked.  
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "I already told you, Ryan. I was at the market and I must've dozed off for longer than usual."  
Ryan stared at me for a moment, his face emotionless, his eyes the only flicker of emotion; they were judging me, trying to suss me out. He gave up and looked away.   
"Whatever. Let's go."


	16. Chapter 16

In an attempt to avoid Ryan questioning me further, I offered to help Jon at the bar for the evening. Mr Wentz, surprised by the fact I was actually volunteering to do work for once, happily agreed and I spent most of the evening learning how to make cocktails and names of different drinks. Jon made everything so professionally; it was a real wonder that he still bothered with this place. I told him he could do so much better somewhere in a city and he laughed.  
"Brendon, I couldn't leave this place even if I wanted to."  
Before I could ask him what he meant, one of the waitresses I recognised to be a girl called Rachel, who I'd nearly asked out on a date when I'd first started working here but was too shy, tapped on the desk.   
"Mr Wentz wants to see you, Brendon," she said.   
My heart stopped and I froze on the spot. Jon smiled at here, completely unaware.  
"Alright, thanks, Rachel."  
He went on to ask her something or other and I stayed perfectly still. Fuck fuck fuck, I thought, he's found, he's gonna kill me, this is the end.   
"Brendon?"  
My head snapped up and I blinked at him, my eyes unintentionally widened. "Y-yeah?"  
"Brendon, are you okay?" Jon asked, his head tilted slightly.  
I nodded quickly. "Y-yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I said.  
Jon raised his eyebrows. "Your hands are shaking, Brendon."  
I blinked and looked down, quickly balling my hands into fists and tried to grin convincingly at him. "I'm fine, really. I-I'd better go. Thanks, Jon."  
"No problem. See you later, Brendon," he smiled and lifted the hatch on the bar to let me out.   
I waved awkwardly and left the bar. The reception was quiet, as it usually was this time of night, and Mr Wentz was at his usual place behind the desk. He was hunched over, scribbling into his reception book and he looked up when he heard me stumble in. The look on his face gave me a brief moment of complete terror but it disappeared almost as fast as it had appeared when he spoke.  
"Mr Weekes wants you," Mr Wentz said and looked back down.  
I blinked at him. "I... Is that all?"  
Mr Wentz looked up again and frowned. He looked me up and down, a slight hint of confusion on his face. "Yes. Now go on," he said, waving his hand dismissively. I left immediately and nearly cheered as I ran up the stairs and along the corridors to Mr Weekes' room. I knocked on his door and played with my hands while I waited. I looked around just in case Ryan was about and heard Mr Weekes call from inside.  
"Come in!"  
I opened the door and smiled when I saw Mr Weekes. He was lying back on his bed reading a book, his hand rested on his chest, his glasses propped at the end of his nose. Next to him on the bed side table, an old gramophone was playing a scratchy but rather pleasant song and Mr Weekes sat up and smiled when he saw me. He put his book down and turned the gramophone down.  
"Get into much trouble?" he asked.  
I closed the door behind me and shook my head, grinning. "Nope! No trouble at all! He didn't even know I was gone," I said.  
Mr Weekes chuckled. "Oh that's excellent."  
There was a brief awkward pause before I nervously spoke up, "So uh... What did you want, Mr Weekes?" I asked.  
Mr Weekes' lips spread into a devilish grin and said, "I wanted to try something." He lifted his hand and gestured to for me to join him. "Come here please, Brendon."  
I hesitated and stumbled forward and once I was close enough, Mr Weekes reached out and placed his hands on my hips, pulling me closer to him to stand between his legs. I could already feel my cheeks warming as I blinked down at him, confused.  
"M-Mr Weekes?" I mumbled weakly, my voice threatening to raise at least an octave.  
Mr Weekes' hands gently squeezed my hips. "Aren't you just lovely?" he uttered softly and I blushed when he licked his lips. "We never finished what we started, Brendon. Don't you think we ought to?"  
I frowned slightly in confusion and looked down at him. "F-finish what?"  
"Our little rendezvous out at the crossroad," Mr Weekes said, his voice cool and serene, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of my bare skin as he tugged teasingly at the waistband of my pants, "But we had no privacy out there, did we? Someone could've caught us."  
I swallowed back the nervous lump rising in my throat and shook my head quickly. To an onlooker, I would've looked as though I was in pain from the grimace on my face, when really it was a look of complete and utter embarrassment and a glimpse of fear I couldn't seem to control. I wasn't scared of Mr Weekes, of course. I was just afraid of whatever he might have planned.  
"Well," Mr Weekes began, his fingers delicately tracing the outline of my hip bones, sending a shiver down my spine, "In here we have all the privacy we could ever need. What do you say?"  
"T-to what?" I asked stupidly, knowing fully well what he meant and the expression on his face after I spoke told me he was beginning to get impatient.  
"Let's put it another way, shall we?" Mr Weekes tried again. "Would you like to play a game, Brendon?"  
I licked my lips nervously and carefully rested my hands on his shoulders, my knees threatening to give out. "U-um... O-okay. What's it called?" I asked softly.  
Mr Weekes paused in thought for a moment and pursed his lips. "Mhm. Let's call it... 'How Long Can Brendon Last?'. How does that sound?" he asked, grinning up at me.   
I had to stop myself from asking what he meant and just nodded uncertainly. "S-sure."  
Mr Weekes chuckled and pressed a soft kiss against my lower abdomen. His hands made quick work of undoing the buttons on my pants and pulling them down around my knees. My breath was shaky and I squeezed his shoulders to gain some sort of comfort, to which Mr Weekes gave me a quick, reassuring smile before cupping me lightly through the fabric of my underwear. I was completely celibate to being touched there, aside from my own hands, and the feeling of another's hands, especially someone like Mr Weekes who frustrated me simply by sight, gave me a feeling so unbelievably heavenly, that all I could do was gasp and blush deeper than I thought was even humanly possible.   
Mr Weekes paused for a moment to marvel up at me. He was grinning broadly and I had to look away, the butterflies in my stomach becoming more frantic by the second. He gave me a squeeze, one I wasn't expecting and I made an embarrassingly high pitched noise, almost like a yelp and Mr Weekes had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.   
"Oh, you're so adorable," he chuckled, placing his free hand on the small of my back, pushing me closer to him. "Take your shirt off. I want to see more."  
I blinked and hesitated before reluctantly letting go of his shoulders and pulling my shirt over my head. I kept hold of it, pressing it to my chest but obediently dropped it to the side when Mr Weekes raised his eyebrows expectantly. He gave me a once over, a satisfied grin and turned his attention back to my underwear.  
Mr Weekes began pressing feather light kisses against my lower abdomen again, trailing his lips down to the waist band of my underwear and I squeezed his shoulders tightly, my fingers digging into his skin. I felt his hair brush against my stomach, his hot breath tickling my dewy skin, his lips nearing with every soft, teasing kiss and I willed myself, with every bone in my body, not to break, not yet.   
But it was when he had pulled my underwear down to my knees, my erection bared before us, a gleam in Mr Weekes' eye and shiver running down my spine, was when I decided I couldn't do it. I really, really hated how I couldn't handle it and I felt horribly pathetic as I shook my head and pushed Mr Weekes' shoulders.   
"N-no..." I mumbled weakly and Mr Weekes paused and blinked up at me.  
"What?"  
I shook my head firmly, taking a small step back. "I-I c-can't..."  
Mr Weekes bit his lip and looked down. He was quiet for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do, then reached forward and pulled up my pants and underwear. I watched him in confusion as I adjusted my pants and he handed me my shirt and gave me a reassuring smile. I don't know why, but the fact that he had actually stopped when I'd changed my mind left me bewildered. Mr Weekes was smiling at me, the smile I knew was genuine, the gentle smile he'd given me so many times before and I couldn't get my head around how calmly he was taking it.   
"I-I'm sorry," I mumbled after pulling my shirt back on.  
Mr Weekes shook his head and continued smiling. "Don't apologise, Brendon. It's alright."  
I looked at him, playing with my hands nervously and shook my head. "N-no, it's not alright. I-I couldn't do it, I-"  
"Brendon," Mr Weekes sat forward, cupping my hands in his and gave me a sincere look, "Listen to me. It's fine. I don't mind. We don't ever have to do this again if you don't want to."  
I frowned slightly. "B-but I think I do," I said before I could stop myself.  
He shrugged and smiled. "Well that's fine. We can do it whenever you're ready. But right now, you don't want it and that's absolutely fine. Now come on," he said, standing and brushing some hair off my face, "It's late and we've both got a lot of work to do tomorrow. Ryan probably misses you anyway."  
I swallowed and looked down. "Oh. Yeah, probably," I mumbled, stumbling towards the door. Mr Weekes kissed me rather uncertainly before wishing me goodnight and closing the door behind him. The corridors were mostly quiet except for the occasional soft conversation behind closed doors and the only workers still up and about were the night time security guards on patrol as usual and Mr Wentz who I passed as he was leaving someone's dorm room. We regarded each other warily as we both looked a little shaken up but our communication was kept to a brief moment of eye contact and a simple nod.  
Both Ryan and Spencer seemed fast asleep when I arrived but Ryan sat up and squinted at me when I switched on my bedside lamp to get changed for bed. I sat on my bed, my back to him in the hope that he would change his mind and go back to sleep but he didn't. Instead he whispered at me, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough not to wake Spencer.  
"Where have you been?"  
"Helping Jon at the bar," I replied. Well, I wasn't exactly lying.  
"No you weren't. I went down there half an hour ago. It was completely empty."   
I stood up to take off my pants and shrugged, still facing away from him. "We went up to the smoking balcony after his shift ended," I said, coolly and shrugged my shirt off.  
"Oh," was all Ryan said. When I peered over my shoulder a few minutes later, he was lying down again on his side with his back to me. I rolled my eyes and hopped over my bed to him. I leaned over him, flicked his ear and kissed his cheek before lying back in my own bed and hiding under the duvet to avoid him throwing a pillow at me.   
"You shit," Ryan hissed and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.  
"Night, Ryan," I chirped softly.  
"Shut the fuck up," Ryan grumbled and I laughed once and switched the bedside lamp off.


	17. Chapter 17

"Brendon, are you sure I don't smell?" Ryan asked me for the hundredth time that morning. He hadn't got the chance to shower that morning since Spencer's alarm, or really it was our alarm, hadn't gone off and I'd woken to Ryan shaking me in blind panic, yelling at me that we were late and Mr Wentz was going to disembowel us. We were only half an hour late and had managed to sneak down into the restaurant to set up the tables without Mr Wentz catching us.  
"No, Ryan, you don't fucking smell. Shut up," I grumbled, taking cutlery from him and placing it on the table neatly.  
He lifted his arm to sniff anyway and before I could make a comment, Spencer bustled passed with a vase of flowers to replace a centre piece and nodded to me. "Mr Wentz wants you, Brendon."  
I groaned and rolled my eyes. "For fuck sake," I said and put my cutlery tray down.   
Ryan frowned and looked between me and Spencer. "What for?"  
Spencer shrugged. "The same thing he always wants Brendon for, I guess."  
I frowned slightly and looked down. "I'll see you guys later then."  
"We'll be clearing out bath 12 this morning, Brendon," Spencer reminded me and I waved my hand in acknowledgement as I left the restaurant.   
Mr Wentz wasn't at his usual seat behind his desk in the reception and I glanced round in confusion.  
"Mr Wentz?" I called, ringing the bell on the desk and Mr Wentz's face suddenly emerged from behind the curtain of his storeroom behind his desk.   
"Oh, yes, Urie," he said and disappeared again. He pushed the curtain back to expose messy shelves stacked up to the ceiling with guest books. In the back were several large boxes labelled "LOST PROPERTY" in Mr Wentz's barely legible scrawl.  
"Hold the curtain for me, Urie," he said and I quickly joined him behind the desk and held the curtain up for him. I watched Mr Wentz move several messy piles of guest books onto his desk before he stopped to catch his breath.  
"Right. Mr Weekes wants you now. And Mr Trohman wants your help in his office after you're done."  
I paused and stared at Mr Wentz, my eyes wide. "M-Mr Trohman?"  
He nodded. "File arranging and stuff. Should keep you busy for a bit and out of trouble. You can put the curtain down now," Mr Wentz said and took his place in his chair.  
"A-are you sure Mr Trohman wants my help?" I asked, walking round to the front again.  
"He said send anyone who isn't too work laden. And all you, Ross and Smith have to do today is clean bath 12 and I'm sure Ross and Smith can manage that themselves. Now go on, don't keep Mr Weekes waiting."  
I swallowed and headed on up to Mr Weekes' room. I was suddenly hoping Mr Weekes wouldn't be too fussed about being late for work because the idea of spending the morning with Mr Trohman scared the shit out of me. I'd only seen him a few times around the bath house and had never spoken to him. I was taught from day one of working here to have to utmost respect for Mr Trohman, no matter what time, day or season it was. Surely Mr Wentz was making a horrible mistake sending me up to work for Mr Trohman. Surely someone like Gerard or Jon would be much better suited, with all the experience behind them. But clearly not.


	18. Chapter 18

Mr Weekes was still asleep when I entered despite his alarm buzzing loud and clear on his bedside table. I switched it off for him and walked over to open the curtains. The early sunrise was beautifully blinding, the clouds brilliant shades of combined purple, red and orange but this only meant there would be rain later at some point. I was alright with that though since all my work would be inside today.  
Mr Weekes still hadn't stirred when I walked over to his wardrobe and took out his suit jacket and pants and hung them up on the folding screen. I heard the bed creak as I was searching through his chest of drawers and I peered over my shoulder to see Mr Weekes sat up and rubbing his eyes. His hair was its usual early morning mess and his eyes, dusted with sleep, lit up when he saw me.  
"Morning, Brendon," he said, his voice rough in the early morning. He leaned back against the headboard and stretched his arms out.  
"Morning, Mr Weekes," I said cheerfully , taking his shirt over to hang with his suit on the folding screen.  
"How are you? A-after yesterday I mean," he asked, a little hesitantly and I paused. I'd been trying my hardest all night to forget yesterday since it had been embarrassing enough and I'd quite happily let work, Ryan and Spencer distract me from it up until now. Where I couldn't escape it.  
"O-okay," I mumbled, avoiding looking at him, although I could feel his eyes fixed on me.  
"Good. You really needn't be so embarrassed about it, Brendon," Mr Weekes said and I heard the bed creak again as he stood up.  
I said nothing and shrugged, my eyes fixed on the floor. I waited until he had closed the bathroom door behind him before picking up all the pillows he'd strewn around the room and arranging them neatly back in place. I looked at the spot Mr Weekes had been sitting on last night and felt a shiver creep up my spine and a blush colour my cheeks. I looked away quickly and tried my best to ignore the fluttering feeling erupting in my stomach as I cleaned up the rest of the room.   
Mr Weekes emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair semi dry and even more of a mess than it had been when he woke up. I suddenly felt strongly aware that Mr Weekes had seen me mostly naked and I'd only ever seen his top half. Even in the bath, I'd avoided looking at anything below his neck. It was strange thinking this man had seen me naked and yet my own best friends had only ever seen the back of me when they'd barged in on me in the bathroom by accident.  
Shaking the thought away, I handed Mr Weekes his underwear over the top of the screen.   
"What are you up to today, Brendon?" he asked.  
"Uh... I was supposed to be cleaning out one of the bigger baths today but Mr Wentz asked me to go and help out Mr Trohman," I said.  
"Who's Mr Trohman?" Mr Weekes asked, his hand appearing over the top.  
"He's the proprietor," I replied, handing him his shirt.  
"Oh wow. Moving up in the world, are we?"  
I frowned. "Not really. He told Mr Wentz to pick anyone who wasn't too busy. I don't know why he picked me though. I'm not exactly reliable."  
"Oh I'm sure you're not that bad," Mr Weekes said, taking his suit pants from me.  
"I was half an hour late this morning," I said bluntly.  
"Oh. But it was a one time thing, right? Doesn't matter."  
"Mhm," was all I could vocalise and Mr Weekes emerged from behind the screen tucking his shirt in.  
"Well I hope you have a pleasant time with Mr Trohman," Mr Weekes said and walked over to the mirror to fix his hair.  
"You too," I nearly said but stopped myself and smiled cheerfully. "Thank you. Are you working all day?"  
Mr Weekes rolled his eyes and nodded. "Unfortunately yes. I'm guessing I'll be back pretty late. Hopefully I'll still have some time for you tonight," he said and I blushed and looked down.  
"H-hopefully," I repeated softly, playing with my hands. Mr Weekes fixed his tie into place and slipped on his suit jacket.  
"Look, Brendon," he began and hesitated. He spent a few moments straightening out his jacket a little more than necessary and walked over to the door. "Look, uh, if I do make it back with time to spare tonight... W-would you want to try again?"  
I swallowed and looked down, shrugging. "I-I suppose," I mumbled. I glanced up at him and he was frowning slightly as though he didn't understand my answer.  
"Well," Mr Weekes said, "Depends on whatever you're feeling at the time, yeah? We'll work something out," he said and patted my arm.   
I nodded and sighed, feeling awful for being too indecisive. "Y-yeah. Sorry, Mr Weekes."  
Mr Weekes frowned and shook his head. "No. No apologising. It's perfectly fine," he said and tapped my nose playfully and I couldn't suppress the smile spreading over my lips.  
"A-alright," I grinned, feeling a bit more reassured.  
Mr Weekes chuckled and stooped to catch my lips in a quick kiss, his hand on my shoulder and I kissed him back with more force to make up for his uncertainty in last night's kiss. I could feel his smile against my lips and I laughed before I could stop myself and looked down. Mr Weekes found himself laughing too and he squeezed my shoulder.  
"I'd better get going," he said and opened the door, blinking down in surprise when Ryan tumbled forward from his crouching position behind the door and into Mr Weekes' knees. Mr Weekes looked between me and Ryan and wiped his mouth with the back of his hands.  
"S-see you later, Brendon," he said, and nodded awkwardly to Ryan who had scrambled to his feet and was smoothing out the creases in his work shirt, and hastily left down the corridor.  
"Ryan!" I yelled once Mr Weekes was out of earshot and pushed Ryan's chest, making him stumble back against the wall. "What the hell are you doing?!"  
"What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?! You know you're not supposed to fuck customers, Brendon," he hissed, shoving me back.  
"I haven't done anything with him!" I lied, and we started walking back up the corridor, both knowing Mr Wentz's wrath about us being late was far more important than our argument, "But why the hell were you eavesdropping?"  
"You were taking ages!" Ryan said, turning a corner sharply and nearly bumping into someone, "What were you doing anyway?"  
"None of your damn business, Ryan," I said, looking ahead of me so I didn't do the same as him.  
"Ah! So you were doing something!" Ryan said, triumphantly.  
"No I wasn't," I growled, shoving his arm, making him stumble to the side and nearly lose his balance.  
"Yes you were! You always spend way too long in Mr Weekes' room. I'm surprised you even bothered coming back to our room last night," he sneered and with that, I shoved him hard, making him gracelessly careen backwards into a pillar and bang his head against the corner. I faltered, all the anger suddenly draining from me and I knelt beside him and helped him sit up.  
"Oh fuck, fuck, Ryan, are you okay?" I said and he reached up to gingerly touch the bump swelling on the back of his head and winced.  
"O-ow..." Ryan mumbled and suddenly glared up at me, "What the fuck did you do that for?"  
The small crowd gathering round us all looked at me and muttered to each other and I felt my ears flush and tried to ignore them.  
"I-I'm sorry, Ryan, I didn't mean-"  
"Get off me, Brendon!" he said and batted my hands away. I was pushed back by several other workers who helped Ryan to his feet and off in the direction of the medical room. Once Ryan was out of sight, I heard a voice boom from the opposite end of the corridor.  
"What's going on here? Urie!"  
I swallowed back the ascending lump of fear in the back of my throat and turned to see Mr Wentz stomping towards me.  
"What's happened?" he demanded.  
"Brendon cracked Ryan's head open!" someone shouted and before I could correct them, Mr Wentz grabbed my arm and hauled me down the corridor with him. This is it, I thought as we climbed the stairs, I'm gonna die. Mr Wentz's is going to throw me off the fucking building.  
But we kept on climbing the stairs, flight after flight until we came to the very top. Oh fuck I panicked as we approached Mr Trohman's office.  
"M-Mr Wentz, i-it was an accident, I promise!" I gabbled desperately, trying to pull out his firm grip but it was useless and Mr Wentz was already knocking on the office door.  
"Come in!" I heard the voice on the opposite side call and Mr Wentz opened the door and pushed me inside.   
"M-Mr Wentz, honestly!" I said, stumbling forward but paused when I came face to face with Mr Trohman.   
"Picked me a troublemaker, Pete?" Mr Trohman said, eyeing me up and down.  
"He's all I can offer, Joe. But he is in trouble now that you mention it," Mr Wentz replied.  
"Well why doesn't he sit down and tell us exactly what happened?" Mr Trohman said, looking directly at me and gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.  
"Go sit down," Mr Wentz said to me, pushing me forward by my shoulder and I stumbled forward and followed Mr Trohman who sat down opposite us. I peered round curiously. Mr Trohman's office was incredibly garish compared to the moderately spiritless dormitories below. Decorated from floor to ceiling in flushed rouge and bold brass, it made my dorm room downstairs seem like a cardboard box in comparison.   
"Tea, Brendon?" Mr Trohman asked, holding up a teapot and I shook my head. I should've said no thank you and Mr Wentz's gaze warned me not to forget next time.   
"So you cracked Ross' head open then?" Mr Wentz said, settling back in the chair next to me with a teacup that looked too delicate in his rough hands and Mr Trohman raised his eyebrows.   
I shook my head quickly and sat up straight. "N-no, Mr Wentz. At least I don't think I did. I-I'm sure it was just a bump."  
"We'll have to wait and see then," Mr Trohman said, relaxing back in his large faded leather chair.   
"So how did Ross bump his head?" Mr Wentz asked after taking a sip.  
I swallowed and looked down. "I-I uh... I pushed him."  
"And why did you push him?" Mr Wentz's voice was worryingly firm.   
"He was annoying me. A-and I told him to stop. And he didn't. So I pushed him," I said simply then panicked and, feeling like it wasn't a good enough explanation, gabbled on, "I-I didn't mean for him to hit his head or even fall over, h-he was just annoying a-and-"  
Mr Trohman raised his hand. "That's enough, Brendon."  
I swallowed and looked down at my fidgeting hands on my lap, praying he wouldn't ask what Ryan was annoying me about but instead Mr Trohman just smiled at Mr Wentz.  
"Go see if the kid's okay, Pete."  
Mr Wentz nodded and put his cup down before placing a rough hand on my shoulder. "You're not in trouble, Urie, don't worry," and left.


	19. Chapter 19

Mr Trohman set me to work organising files in the backroom of his office and occasionally stuck his head round the door to offer me tea or biscuits. The work was tedious and I hated the cramped little room with a passion I never knew was in me and when Mr Trohman knocked on the door and told me it was lunch time, my entire body, including my pounding head, flooded with relief.   
"Should I come back afterwards?" I asked by the door on my out and thankfully Mr Trohman shook his head.   
"That's enough for today. Thanks, Brendon," he said and waved his hand to dismiss me. I passed Mr Wentz on the way to my room who told me Ryan was resting in bed and I'd have to be quiet if that's where I was heading. Despite coming up with various, strategic arguments in the backroom all morning, I didn't feel quite up to having a yelling match with Ryan just yet. I turned on my heel and went down to the bath rooms to find Spencer. I worked out that if Ryan had been sent to bed and I'd been stuck in Mr Trohman's office all morning, that only meant poor Spencer had been left to clean Bath 12 all by himself. And he had. I peered round the doorway to see him knelt on the floor scrubbing and I cleared my throat to make myself known. He looked up and smiled.   
"Oh hey, Bren. How was Mr Trohman?"  
I rolled my eyes dramatically and picked up a rag from the bucket. "Boring. I had to sort files all morning. That little filing room he has is absolutely boiling," I said, joining him on the floor and started scrubbing.   
Spencer chuckled and shrugged. "I don't know. That kinda sounds much better than being stuck in here alone all morning. Ryan's ditched me. Do you know where he is?"  
I paused and swallowed. "Oh yeah, about that... He uh... He had an accident."  
Spencer paused and blinked at me. "An accident? Shit, is he okay?"  
I nodded quickly. "Oh yeah, yeah, he's fine. He just bumped his head."  
"Oh. Well I hope he can join us this afternoon. I thought if me and Ryan got started in the morning, by the time you joined us, all we'd have to do is scrub up and we'd be done. But uh..." he sighed, glancing round, "Obviously not."  
"Doesn't matter," I said cheerfully. "We can get to work properly after lunch. You coming?" I said, dropping my rag back in the bucket.  
"Yeah," Spencer said, sitting back on his heels and giving the bath another disheartened look.  
"C'mon then," I said, tugging his arm and he got up and followed me out.  
We went to the market for lunch and it started raining as we were walking back and it was still raining by the evening. We'd worked on Bath 12 right through the afternoon and Spencer, as he always did, improved my mood immensely. We were close to finishing when Gabe, who seemed to have become Mr Wentz's personal assistant, appeared in the archway and told me Mr Wentz wanted to see me. I knew fully well that Mr Wentz would send me to Mr Weekes' room straight away and despite all my excitement and nerves bundling into one in my stomach, I would've much rather spent the rest of the evening with Spencer.   
"I can manage the rest myself," Spencer assured me with a smile before I brushed past Gabe and headed up to the reception.   
"Mr Weekes' room, gotcha," I said, waving my hand as I passed Mr Wentz's desk. Mr Wentz did a double take and waved his hand at me.   
"No, no, Urie, not his room," he said, gesturing for me to come back.  
I frowned and walked back to the desk, feeling foolish for being wrong but not letting it on.  
"He wants a bath, Urie," Mr Wentz said quickly then turned to grin and welcome a customer.   
I blinked and hoped like hell my cheeks weren't flushing. "Wh-which ba-" I tried to ask but Mr Wentz put his hand up to shush me while he dealt with the customer and after he hoped they enjoyed their stay, Mr Wentz turned to me with the stern expression I'd come to know all too well.  
"Bath 2 today," he said and handed me tokens from under his desk.   
After I set up the bath, I took my usual place outside where I would wait for Mr Weekes to turn up. He was taking his time and after I'd checked the clock on the wall at the end of the corridor for the tenth time, I started to think he'd changed his mind about having a bath and whether I should go and find him.   
"Hey, Urie!"  
I glanced over my shoulder and was met with the grin of Frank, the older kid who had ditched me earlier in the week. He was supposed to have been my mentor when I first arrived here. But I'd barely seen him around though and had to ask Jon to be my mentor instead. I didn't hold a grudge against Frank for abandoning me but I didn't particularly like him very much since he was well known to cause trouble. Why Mr Trohman continued to let him work here was well beyond me.  
"What?"  
"Heard you beat up Ross," he said, slinging his arm over my shoulders and I frowned and tried to shrug him off.   
"I didn't. It was an accident."  
"Y'know I thought it was weird since I thought you guys were really good friends but I can understand you. That Ross kid is a brat," Frank said, taking his arm off and shoving his hands in his pockets.   
"Ryan's not a brat," I frowned. "He's just an idiot sometimes."  
Frank shrugged. "Always seemed really bratty if you ask me."  
"Well no one asked you," I was about to say but I heard someone clear their throat behind us and Mr Weekes smiled down at me pleasantly.  
"See you later, man," Frank said, clapping my back and walking off, making me stumble slightly from the force.  
"This way, Mr Weekes," I sighed and pulled the curtain back for him. He was already in the bath by the time I'd finished adjusting the curtains and, just like before, Mr Weekes patted the space next to him and smiled up at me. I picked up a towel and laid it down next to him, sitting cross legged.   
"How are you then, Brendon?" Mr Weekes asked, laying back and closing his eyes.  
"Alright, I guess. You?"  
"I'm so tired," he groaned and I laughed softly, making him smile as well.  
"How was your day then?"  
I paused and bit my lip. "Uh. Alright but... Not really."  
"Not really? Wanna tell me about it?"  
I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. "I-it was the whole thing with Ryan this morning," I said and Mr Weekes pulled a face.  
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. What happened?"  
I hesitated. "H-he... He knows. About uh..."  
Mr Weekes frowned and looked up at me. "You told him?"  
I shook my head quickly. "N-no, no, I didn't! He just assumes it a-and he was annoying me about it so I uh... I pushed him and he hit his head."  
Mr Weekes winced and peered up at me. "Ow. Is he okay?"   
I shrugged. "I think so. Mr Wentz said it was only a bump but everything thinks I cracked his head open."  
Mr Weekes frowned. "Oh dear. Haven't you seen him?"  
I shook my head. "Not after they took him to medical."  
Mr Weekes pursed his lips and poked my knee. "You should go and apologise to him."  
"I tried to. B-but I don't think he wants to see me."  
"Mhm. Maybe you should try later?"  
I sighed and shrugged. "Maybe. How was your day?"  
Mr Weekes pulled a face and waved his hand. "Eh. Stressful, tiring, nothing new."  
I laughed softly and looked down at my lap. "You always say that! Are you working tomorrow?"  
Mr Weekes paused and bit his lip. "Uh, no. No I'm not."  
I perked up slightly. "Another day off?" I asked hopefully.  
Mr Weekes shrugged. "I guess you could call it that. I'm uh... I'm leaving tomorrow, Brendon."  
I froze and felt my stomach drop. "Y-you're... Leaving?"  
He nodded and ruffled his hair. "Yeah. I only booked this week, Brendon. It was for work anyway." He shrugged. "I can't take anymore time off after this."  
I sighed and looked down, playing with my hands. "Oh. Okay," I mumbled, trying not to get upset over it.   
Mr Weekes reached over and took my hands in his, giving them a squeeze and smiled. "Hey, it's okay. You're coming to see me, remember?"  
I gave him a weak smile and a nod in return. "Y-yeah." Suddenly filled with the hope that Mr Weekes would keep his word about letting me visit, I plucked up the courage to ask, "H-hey, Mr Weekes? Who's at home for you?"  
Mr Weekes blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Huh? Oh, you mean who am I going home to?"  
I nodded and smiled, taking his hand in mine.  
"Well um. No one at the moment. There was at one point but uh..." he shrugged and smiled and I, completely disregarding Mr Wentz rule of not getting involved, went ahead anyway.  
"What happened?"  
"She uh," he shifted slightly in the water and looked away, "We were just struggling to get on. She said I was too focused on work and never had time for her. Wh-which was true but... She always complained about never having anything nice. So y'know. Not exactly a win-win situation."  
I nodded and decided not to question any further despite my aching curiosity.  
"Well I know about your grandma at home," Mr Weekes said, perking up and smiling at me, "What about your parents?"   
I paused and hesitated. "My uh... My dad isn't around anymore and my m-mother remarried. Grandma sent me here to work. She's the only one I have really. She sent me here to work and help with uh..." I trailed off. trying to sound  
nonchalont.  
"With what?" Mr Weekes asked, frowning slightly.  
I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flush slightly. "M-my sexuality," I mumbled, looking down.  
"Oh," and after a quiet moment, Mr Weekes smiled up at me. "Obviously didn't work very well, did it?" he said.  
I forced a quiet laugh and shook my head, rubbing the back of my neck. "No. No, it didn't."  
"How uh... How did she find out?"  
I swallowed again and fidgeted slightly. "She um... Grandma caught me kissing Ryan."  
Mr Weekes raised his eyebrows. "Ryan? You know, I'm actually disappointed that you're not with Ryan."  
I shrugged and scratched the back of my hand to give my eyes something to focus on. "I don't think he'd want to anyway."  
I saw Mr Weekes give me an incredulous look out the corner of my eye but didn't press the matter any further. "So your mother remarried and left you behind, huh?"  
I shrugged and sighed. "I'm okay with it now. I haven't spoken to her in a while but it's alright, I-I think. Yeah, she had to decide what to do with me since my older siblings were old enough to work and marry off and she decided to send me to grandma's. She said working here would do me some good and distract me from...," I waved my hand, trying to remember the horrible way grandma had described my 'disease' but instead I shrugged again and smiled at him weakly.  
"Oh Brendon, I'm so sorry," Mr Weekes said, sitting up and rubbing my upper arm. I'm sure he would've hugged me if he could, and he did once he got out and wrapped himself in his bathrobe again. Our conversation had brightened up since then; we'd talked about his work and his home, where he grew up and how his family were and I suddenly felt unbearably sad knowing all this now rather than sooner.


	20. Chapter 20

I only had to clear up the towels after Mr Weekes left Bath 2 since the reason Frank had even bothered approaching me earlier was because it was his job to clean up after Mr Weekes was done. I avoided talking to Frank after I finished and quickly made my way down the corridor to see if Spencer was still in Bath 12. But the bath was in use when I arrived and I knew at this time during the evening, Spencer would be back up in our room probably looking after Ryan.  
I turned on my heel and high tailed it back up to Mr Weekes' room. I entered without knocking, hoping he wouldn't mind and smiled when I saw him sat on the end of his bed, dressed in his underwear and a shirt, roughly drying his hair with a towel. Mr Weekes looked up when he heard me and grinned.   
"Okay?" he asked cheerfully, dropping the towel to the side. I smiled wider in reply and as I paced over to him, I felt the butterflies in my stomach beginning to stir and flutter again.  
Mr Weekes rubbed his hands together and smiled up at me. "Right well, um..." he began, faltering and glancing round awkwardly, "I uh... I was thinking maybe we should try something different?"  
I shrugged, too nervous to speak yet felt I was doing a pretty good job of not letting my nerves show.  
"Alright. I-I should've asked you this before but how did," Mr Weekes paused to swallow, "h-how did you feel about me touching you?"  
I hesitated, deciding not to tell him it was scariest, most overwhelmingly titillating thing that had ever happened to me in my seventeen years and settled for another shrug and a mumbled, "I-I liked it."  
Mr Weekes smiled. "Good. So uh..." he said, scratching the back of his neck, "Would you like to go further with that or something else?"  
I frowned slightly, suddenly aware Mr Weekes was acting completely different to yesterday. Last night, his words were sweet and sultry with his lips leaving my skin burning and his hands electrifying my bones. But now, sat before me on the bed, the same lips were nothing but soft tremors, the same hands eager and agitated with nerves. I felt my skin aching for the same contact and, trying my hardest to ignore the violent bustling of butterflies in my stomach, stepped forward and stooped to kiss Mr Weekes, my hand gently cupping his cheek. He kissed me back, gradually becoming rougher with his mouth and placed his hand on the back of my neck to keep me in place. I slid out of his hold after a few long moments of tongue clashing and lip biting and dropped to my knees in front of him, resting my hands on his thighs.   
At this point I was fairly certain that I knew what I wanted to do but the idea of it seemed totally alien to me. I was up on my knees so I could continue kissing Mr Weekes and my hands were slowly sliding up his bare thighs, trembling lightly with a mix of longing and fright and they paused to dither by the hem of his underwear. I broke the kiss to take a breath and blinked up at him, only acutely aware that my eyes were wide open, my cheeks flustered and my breath quick and shallow. Mr Weekes' gave me lazy side grin, his eyes intently fixed on mine and he stroked the back of my neck with his thumb while he caught his breath. I swallowed and glanced down at the growing bulge in his boxers. I breathed out shakily and started to think about how I was supposed to do this, trying to remember how Mr Weekes had done it to me but my train of thought was interrupted by his voice.  
"Want some help?" he asked and I sat back on my heels as Mr Weekes stood up and dropped his underwear to his feet.   
I froze. Mr Weekes sat back down on the bed and waited patiently but all I could do was stare. My eyes were widened slightly and my mouth was gaped, my lips trembling lightly and I saw a flash of Mr Weekes' grin in my peripheral vision.   
"Brendon?" I heard the smirk in his voice. I swallowed and tore my eyes away, looking up at him. I breathed out shakily, willing myself not to give up so easily this time, and shuffled forward. My face was perfect level with his cock and I was struggling to lift my hands from my lap. I knew what I needed to do but my hands had suddenly become disconnected from my brain and stayed fixed in their place until Mr Weekes reached down and held them in his own.   
"Would you like me to...?" he asked, leaving the question hanging and I nodded sheepishly, feeling my heart flutter in my chest. Mr Weekes gently cupped my cheek and leaned forward to kiss me. His lips were gentle and slow against mine and he paused after a moment to mumble softly against them.  
"You'll be alright, I promise."  
With that, I nodded slightly and felt him move away. I had my eyes closed out of embarrassment and dared myself to open them while Mr Weekes adjusted my hands. They stayed tightly shut when I felt the warmth of Mr Weekes' cock in my hands and I breathed in sharply. I frowned slightly at the feel, suddenly feeling foolish for being so afraid since it barely felt different to my own. I opened my eyes after a moment of testing and stared at his hands over mine on his cock and the sudden dawning absurdity of the situation made me laugh softly in disbelief. I smiled up at Mr Weekes and he raised his eyebrows, beginning to look a little impatient, but smiled back nevertheless.  
"That okay?" he asked and I nodded quickly. Briefly, I felt fairly confident that I could do this and it would be no trouble and I hopefully wouldn't make a complete fool out of myself again. But it suddenly dawned on me that, as ever ready as I was to jack him off, at this level he would perhaps be expecting a blow job. Which I was definitely not prepared for. The idea of it made me shudder but I felt just a hand job wasn't exactly enough and a flicker of hope that Mr Weekes would shove me away and finish it off himself flared in my stomach for a moment before I realised I didn't want that to happen. I wanted to please him.  
"Brendon?"  
My train of thought faltered and I blinked up at Mr Weekes in confusion before realising I'd paused for longer than I'd meant to. "O-oh yeah, sorry," I mumbled awkwardly but he stopped me before I could do anything.  
"A-are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, gently squeezing my hands. I nodded again, a little more uncertain than before, but Mr Weekes smiled and leaned forward to kiss my forehead.  
"Whenever you're ready," he uttered against my skin before sitting back again.  
I hesitated for a long moment before I did anything. My hands were noticeably shaking at the steady pace and I really hoped Mr Weekes wouldn't say anything.   
He thankfully didn't; instead Mr Weekes tilted his head back and closed his eyes and breathed out my name in such a deliciously satisfying way, it sent a shiver down my spine and blush to my cheeks. Too embarrassed to look elsewhere, I kept my eyes focused on my hands and prayed like hell I wouldn't fuck up. His voice was painfully distracting, the soft grunts and groans leaving me flustered and forgetting what I was supposed to be doing. I worked with two hands which only it more difficult for myself and tried to force myself to do something other than stroking. Mr Weekes didn't seem to mind at all though; he kept his fingers tangled tightly in my hair and his eyes shut. He wasn't particularly loud which disappointed me slightly but I reminded myself it was my first time on someone else and it mustn't have been that good for him.   
That's what I thought until Mr Weekes groaned out a low "Good boy" and tightened his grip on my hair, causing me to yelp softly. It hurt but it felt nice for some reason and as I was trying to figure this out, Mr Weekes sat up and moved forward, his back arching and let out a fairly loud moan which startled me and made me lose focus. His cock was alarmingly close to my face now and I knew he really wanted me to suck him off and I tried, I really did try, but I just couldn't bring myself to close my mouth around the tip of his cock no matter how close I got to it. It didn't matter anyway because the next thing I knew, Mr Weekes' cum was spilling over my fingers and my hair was being sharply tugged again. I yelped again but the sound was smothered by Mr Weekes moaning out loud. He let go of my hair and brushed his own out of his face.  
"F-fuck, Brendon..." Mr Weekes breathed out and rolled his head forward. He ruffled his hair and grinned down at me. I smiled back awkwardly. I was still holding his cock, unsure whether I should let go or not. My trembling fingers were sticky with cum and I wanted more than anything to wash it off.  
"You can let go if you want," Mr Weekes smirked down at me and I let go immediately. He picked up a box of tissues from his bed side table and put it on the floor in front of me. I quickly, almost desperately, started wiping my fingers clean.  
"How was that then?" Mr Weekes asked after a quiet moment.   
I hesitated. From my point of view, I'd done absolutely awful and it was probably the worst hand job Mr Weekes would ever have and it wouldn't surprise me if he never wanted one from me again. But of course, I didn't say this. I just mumbled, "D-difficult."  
Mr Weekes raised his eyebrows. "Difficult? How?"  
I shrugged and watched him pull his boxers back on.   
"Well I suppose if it's your first one on someone else it is a little scary. You did a good job though, Brendon," Mr Weekes said, ruffling my hair.  
I frowned slightly. "B-but I didn't suck y-you..." my voice trailed off at the smile Mr Weekes gave me.  
He chuckled and cupped my cheek. "You did fine. I promise."  
Mr Weekes stood up and headed towards the bathroom but paused in the doorway. "Oh, is there anything else you'd like to do, Brendon?"  
I didn't hesitate to shake my head and Mr Weekes, thankfully, was okay with this.   
"Alright. I'm gonna have a shower. You run off to bed. We've got an early start tomorrow," he smiled and disappeared into the bathroom.


	21. Chapter 21

I was stood out on the bridge in the early morning waiting for the first train to pass underneath me. The cliffs in the distance were clouded with mist and the small platform off the distance was completely hidden from sight. I leaned against the banister, my jaw rested in my hands but occasionally checked my watch. It was very nearly 6 o'clock. I must have been stood out there for well over an hour. The mist had cleared up considerably and I saw the train before it could whistle. I felt the rumble as it passed underneath me and I ran to the over side of the bridge to watch it disappear, covering my mouth with my hand to stop myself breathing in the smoke. A smile formed behind my fingers as I watched it dissolve in the mist and out of sight. I felt a prickle course over my skin as I shivered for the hundredth time from the cold.  
Mr Weekes was due to leave in an hour but I didn't want to go and see him just yet. I'd thoroughly washed my hands before going to bed last night and, thankfully, Ryan had been fast asleep the whole time. I'd managed to peer over and inspect the bump on his head and, again thankfully, it was already looking better. Ryan would be up and about fine this morning like nothing happened. Him and Spencer were still asleep when I'd got up to watch the train this morning but would definitely be up and doing work already.  
I rubbed my eyes, still dusted with sleep since I'd forgotten to wash my face, and headed back inside.


	22. Chapter 22

Mr Weekes was packing when I entered his room. His suitcase was laid on the bed with articles of clothing cast haphazardly around the outside of it. He turned at the sound of the door opening and smiled nonchalantly, obviously not used to being awake this early and I let out a soft sigh and crossed the room.   
"Here, let me do it, Mr Weekes," I said, taking a shirt from his hands and folding it neatly. He didn't complain and sat on the edge of the bed to watch me.   
"I'm hoping to come back soon," Mr Weekes said after a moment, smiling up at me, "To visit you of course."  
I smiled back, arranging the clothes to fit correctly in his suitcase. "I'm already looking forward to it," I said.  
Mr Weekes gave what seemed like a nervous laugh and sat at the end of his bed. "Look, Brendon," he began, running a hand through his hair, "I-I have something important I want to tell you."  
I paused and looked at him, cautiously tucking his work shoes into a pocket in his suitcase. "Wh-what is it?"  
Mr Weekes breathed out. "I heard you and Ryan arguing yesterday. A-after he caught us. I just wanted to say that uh... N-no let me start again," he said and turned to me, giving me an oddly sincere look. "Brendon, what do you think we are? As in, our relationship?"  
I blinked at him. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. I suppose I would've liked some sort of personal relationship with Mr Weekes but from his tone, I had the feeling that wasn't what he was going to be propositioning to me.   
"I-I don't... I'm not sure," I mumbled, looking down at the suitcase again.   
"So you know we're not in a relationship?" he asked, his tone oddly hopeful.  
I shrugged. "I guess..."  
Mr Weekes breathed out again in relief. "Good. W-well I don't mean good but y'know what I mean. Look, Brendon, what I'm trying to say is, if you thought this was going to become an intimate relationship, that it really wouldn't be possible because of uh... Well for starters, I'm a lot older than you-"  
"You don't need to give me reasons," I said, a little more sharply than I intended, making Mr Weekes falter.  
"Oh, I... Oh. Alright."  
I sighed and put down the pants I was folding. "Look, Mr Weekes, I knew this wouldn't become a relationship. I didn't even expect it to," I said, giving him an encouraging smile. I reached over and patted his shoulder. "I'm not even expecting to see you again after today."  
Mr Weekes frowned slightly. "But you're coming to visit me, aren't you?"  
I shrugged. "I doubt I'll ever get train tickets, Mr Weekes. But I will visit you if I do."  
Mr Weekes smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Is that a promise?"  
I laughed and held out my hand for him. "I promise."  
He grinned and shook it. "Good."


	23. Chapter 23

The track was still flooded and a small boat was supposed to transport me and Mr Weekes over to the platform but with no boat in sight and Mr Weekes already slipping off his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants, it looked like our only option was to walk. As much as I insisted, Mr Weekes refused to make me carry his suitcase and lugged it over his shoulder instead.   
"It's too heavy for you," he kept saying.   
The platform was deserted as always. We took a seat on one of the two benches either side of the lamp post and I watched Mr Weekes dry his feet and put his shoes back on.   
"What's the time?" he asked, finally sitting up and I glanced over his head at the clock face hanging from the lamp post.  
"Nearly 7 o'clock."  
"Oh. That's not a lot of time," he said and I frowned in confusion as he started searching through his jacket pockets. "Is the train usually on time?"  
I hesitated. "I-I don't actually know. Do you need some help, Mr Weekes?"  
Instead of answering, Mr Weekes gave a triumphant laugh and help up two folded pieces of paper. "Ha! Found 'em!"  
My heart stopped and my eyes widened when I realised Mr Weekes was holding two, not just one, two train tickets between his fingers. He held them out for me and flashed me a satisfied grin. All I could do was stare. I'd never seen real train tickets before and the fact that they were there, just there right in front of me, Mr Weekes just holding them like the little pieces of paper they really were, was completely incomprehensible to me.  
"Aren't you going to take them?"  
I blinked back into focus and looked at him. "M-Mr Weekes, I can't, I... I really can't. This is too much..."  
Mr Weekes scoffed and put them in my hands anyway, closing my fingers around them. "Don't be stupid; this is nothing. Consider it a gift for looking after me so well this week," he smiled and patted my hands. I opened my hand and stared down at the little crumpled pieces of paper.  
"Mr Weekes, I..." I began.  
"Oh wait, I almost forgot! See," he took them both out my hands and held them up, one in each hand, "This one is specifically for you, okay? Make sure you use this one. Remember, it has a sun stamp on it," he said and put it back on my palm.  
"And this one; this one has a crescent moon stamp it. And I want you to give it to Ryan," he said.  
I blinked. "R-Ryan?"  
Mr Weekes nodded and smiled. "Specifically for Ryan, okay?"  
I swallowed. "O-okay."  
Mr Weekes sighed and rested his hand on my shoulder. "Look, I know you fell out with him but it's nothing, trust me. This time next week, neither of you will even be thinking about it. And look," he paused to sit up and ruffle his hair, "I-I know it's none of my business but honestly, Brendon, I think Ryan might be better for you in the long run."  
I paused and looked at him. "Wait. Wh-what?"  
Mr Weekes shuffled, looking uncomfortable. "I-I just think since... Well you can't exactly be with me; I-I'm a lot older than you and I live far away a-and I think, you know since you and Ryan have known each other for so long and..."  
His voice was drowned out by the approaching steam train and we both looked up as the train pulled into the station. Mr Weekes breathed out and smiled at me.  
"I-I guess this is it then," he said, quickly standing up.  
I swallowed and hesitated before standing up and helping Mr Weekes with his bags. He was avoiding looking at me. "Do you honestly think I should be with Ryan?" I asked and he glanced at me briefly and nodded.   
"I-if you want to, of course. It'll be easier for you."  
I frowned. I felt a light blush bloom on my cheeks and I wrapped my arms around Mr Weekes' waist tightly before he could see it.   
"I think I'm gonna miss you," I mumbled into him and I smiled slightly, listening to his laugh echo in his chest.  
"I think I'm gonna miss you too, kid," Mr Weekes said and brushed away my bangs to kiss to my forehead. Behind us, we heard the conductor clear his throat and I squeeze his waist once before stepping back.  
"Got your tickets, right?" Mr Weekes asked and I held them up with a smile.  
Mr Weekes planted a kiss on my forehead and winked. "See you soon, Brendon," and he turned and stepped on to the train.   
I kept on waving, even after the train was out of sight. The wind whipped at my clothes and ruffled my hair out of place as I watched the billow of smoke disappear behind the cliffs. I breathed out steadily, then stuffed the tickets into my pants pocket, picked up my shoes and began wading along the track back to the bath house.


	24. For anyone who is interested.

it took me so fukign long to upload and edit this story and i hate it so much but here i hope evryone enjoys it tyty to my proofreaders and anyone who takes the time to read and thank u hannah and kate and especially rae just because

edit: 25/12/2017  
theres a sequel to this im never gonna write which explains dallons interest in brendon despite their age difference in case anyones concerned but yeah i still hate this story n its even worse reading it back after like 3 years


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